


The Cost of Balance

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Chosen One, Don't expect sex, Empire, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Horror, Jedi, Mandalore, Mandalorians - Freeform, Mando'a, Mandos, Order 66, Republic, Sith, Survival, The Force, balance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7993396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of Revenge of the Sith, a new story with some beats that are familiar, others that really aren't. I am a fan of horror, folks, and it shows. Consider yourself warned. Or lured, depending on your own personal tastes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Sacrifice undoes, sacrifice remakes.

One life is stolen, another given.

— part of the prophecy of the Chosen One

 

 

“Balance doesn't require death, Obi-Wan. It makes no sense. Whenever there is death, darkness shows up. So obviously, that's not the answer. The way to counter the rising darkness is through _life._ We win by surviving.”

Obi-Wan gave the hologram of his former apprentice a smile he didn't truly feel.

Anakin had endured much over the past three years of war, and part of that was the weight of knowledge.

The time was drawing near.

“I'm standing at Master Yoda's door; I'll speak with you when you get back.” Obi-Wan glanced through the open doorway, spotted the ancient Master sitting on a large round ottoman.

“See you soon, Obi-Wan. But you know I'm right. If some filthy Sith sacrifice  _brings_ the end, the only way to counter it is  _living._ ”

Obi-Wan gave him a nod, and the miniature Anakin disappeared.

“Doubts, you have.”

Obi-Wan stepped into the room and keyed the door shut behind him, leaving him alone with Yoda. “What was it you wanted to see me about, Master?”

“The same thing young Skywalker sought your opinion over, it is.”

Obi-Wan gave a faint smile. “Anakin didn't want my opinion. He wanted to explain to me  _his_ .”

“Argue with him you did not.”

Obi-Wan felt disquiet whispering through his gut.

“Believe, you do, that with Balance will come your death.”

Obi-Wan's gaze snapped to Yoda's face. “Have I been so poor at hiding it?”

“No.” Yoda shook his head, his long ears swaying. “But senses your unease, Skywalker does.”

“Master Windu doubted the prophecy is legitimate.”

“Believe that  _you_ do not.”

No.

Not anymore.

As a young man he'd read it, of course, conferred with fellow Padawans in hushed tones  _who_ it might mean.

And what.

If it was even true.

He hadn't read it again for many long years... not until the beginning of the Clone War.

Anakin had brought it up. He'd heard the whispers that with bringing balance, the Chosen One would die.

So Obi-Wan had read it, to try to reassure him.

The prophecy was vague... but it  _did_ seem to suggest the Chosen One would bring balance by giving himself up. Obi-Wan had been unable to give his former apprentice enthusiastic support against the rumors.

Anakin had been struggling to find a new interpretation ever since, as though convincing Obi-Wan would somehow change fate.

The thing of it was, as Obi-Wan had read the prophecy,  _two_ things had happened.

Yes. It clearly spoke of Anakin.

That was a cold he wouldn't shake for the next three years. He hoped, oh how he  _hoped_ they were misinterpreting the prophecy.

But something else had settled in Obi-Wan's heart in addition to worry for Anakin. A weight.

The thing of it was, it didn't feel  _new._

Just... that the light finally reached its corner, illuminating it for the first time. Something he'd felt all along, years and years before Anakin's arrival into his life, but been able to ignore.

Anakin's blinding light drove away the possibility of hiding it anymore.

“Just as important as the Chosen One you are in this. Known it, I have, for some time. Said it, Master Windu did, as he died. Confirmed my suspicions.”

Mace Windu had agreed?

The news churned in Obi-Wan's gut. He studied Yoda's eyes, searching for an answer. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“When come the time has, know what to do you will.”

Obi-Wan stood, bowed, and left without a word.

The disquiet in his muscles was growing. It urged him to pace, to think the prophecy over one more time, to try  _again_ to unravel who the second Sith Lord was.

Mace Windu had killed Count Dooku and rescued the kidnapped Chancellor, only to die from his wounds hours later.

Anakin was returning from defeating Grievous in the Outer Rim.

_Finally_ , that monstrosity was dead.

The war should be over. It was a matter of hours before the Separatist Parliament would be suing for peace. They  _had_ no other options, except struggle to the bitter end, and Obi-Wan didn't think they were suicidal.

He wished he could talk to Mace.

The stern Jedi would tell him he was overreacting.

Wouldn't he?

Obi-Wan turned in, deciding that  _sleep_ would be of more benefit to his tired mind and body than more  _contemplating._

It might have, if the memories hadn't come in dreams.

The way Qui-Gon would look at him at times.

Times when he thought his apprentice wouldn't see it.

Grief. Pain. Dread.

A little bit of awe.

Obi-Wan wanted to ask  _why_ he looked at him like that, but the words wouldn't come.

And then he saw Bandomeer. Saw himself as a child.

Offering to die for Qui-Gon.

Convinced of the rightness.

Convinced... it was what he was  _meant_ to do.

Right when Qui-Gon would have interfered to keep the boy from death, he turned away. Looked straight into the older Obi-Wan's eyes.

Fire exploded, consuming the child, the doorway, the surroundings; left Qui-Gon and the older Obi-Wan alone.

Qui-Gon's gaze shifted, and there stood Anakin as Obi-Wan had seen him last. He'd lost the last of childhood from his face, and with it, the whining. He'd gained a grace and gravity in their place.

“Did he know?” Qui-Gon asked. “Has he always known?”  
Obi-Wan tried to speak, but he couldn't open his mouth.

“He thought his calling to death meant you,” Anakin said.

Qui-Gon smiled, that sad, painful smile. It made Obi-Wan's heart ache, and he didn't know why. “He was so ready to give himself.”

“He knows.” Anakin shook his head. “But if I am the second sacrifice, does that mean his death will destroy freedom and solidify the Sith's rule? Will it necessitate mine? Would I live, if he  _wasn't_ that first sacrifice? It keeps him awake at night.”

Obi-Wan looked to Qui-Gon, but his Master was fading away.

And then came the screams.

Not of voices, but of minds, as thousands turned, saw dear, trusted faces, and were slaughtered.

Obi-Wan jolted awake, sweat beading on his brow, fists clenching sheets, and his heart breaking.

The deaths were happening.  _Now._ His brothers and sisters—

His door slid open, revealing Yoda. “Begun it has, and revealed the Sith Lord is. Palpatine is Sidious. To face him, I go. Crowned himself Emperor, he has. The Senate approves, and branded traitors the Jedi have been. Find Skywalker you must.”

“Is he back?” Obi-Wan rasped, struggling to see through the death shrieking through his mind.

“Yes, but here he is not.  _Find him_ , then at the Senate join me.”

Obi-Wan bolted out the door.

Anakin was on-planet.

_Where would he go after a harrowing mission, if not here? He's exhausted._

There was only one option. One he'd tried to ignore for so long.

C-3PO let him in without question.

Obi-Wan bounded past him, ignoring the droid's protests.

Padmé and Anakin sat curled up together on the couch.

The senator pulled away from the Jedi with a start. “ _Threepio!_ ”

“You told me to admit Jedi who come at odd hours—” he protested.

Obi-Wan stumbled, fell to the floor as something shredded his mind. He may have screamed. He didn't know.

There was one thing he  _did_ know.

Apparently he  _wasn't_ one of the sacrifices.

Because the ritual was over.

He gasped for breath and struggled to rise, felt the trembling in his limbs.

Felt the horrible gap in the Force where Yoda had once been.

Felt the universe spinning out of control as darkness flooded every corner, revealing everything that should have been hidden and destroying the lifeforms too sensitive to survive its callous touch. Felt malicious intent aimed at what was left of the Republic. Felt it, like a whirpool seeking to destroy everything that had ever been good.

It would only intensify.

“What is it?” Padmé demanded.

Obi-Wan looked up, saw Anakin's bloodless face and boneless, trembling body, Padmé's horrified fear.

“He's killed Yoda,” Anakin choked.

“It's begun.” Obi-Wan dragged himself to his feet. “The Jedi are dead, and Master Yoda was the sacrifice the Sith needed. The scale has been locked to destruction and dark. It was the last thing that Sidious needed.”

“ _How_ could he kill all of— why didn't Anakin sense—  _who_ is—” Padmé couldn't seem to decide which question held the highest importance.

“The clones. I was hiding from Obi-Wan, and wasn't tapped into the Force. Palpatine,” Anakin growled.

None of the answers were easy for him, but he caught up his lightsaber, kissed Padmé on the forehead, and beat Obi-Wan out the door.

“I suggest you turn your comlink back on.” Obi-Wan turned to follow his former apprentice. “I think you'll find an emergency congress was held without you.”

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“The Senate.” Obi-Wan dodged around the agitated C-3PO. He paused in the doorway, looked back.

His heart told him this was it.

The Force would take Anakin today.

_And me too._

“If something happens to me, tell Satine I love her.”

He didn't wait to hear her reaction, and thankful Anakin hadn't been present to hear it, he followed the younger Jedi to the closest speeder.

Ahsoka was on Mandalore, helping Satine and Bo-Katan fight Maul.

With a clone escort.

Obi-Wan hoped to the  _Force_ she made it out.

Ahsoka wasn't a Jedi anymore, but somehow Obi-Wan doubted the Sith cared about those sorts of small technicalities.

 

* * *  
  


The darkness in the Force was so bad it made it difficult for Anakin to pilot the speeder.

Obi-Wan could sense a tumult at the Temple. A desperate fight carrying on.

The Force felt like an apocalypse was tearing through it.

Light was so far destroyed, Obi-Wan wasn't sure they  _could_ bring it back.

“They're killing the younglings.” Anakin's voice was hoarse. Broken.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against burning tears. “I know.”

“He  _killed Yoda,_ Obi-Wan. How am I supposed to defeat him?”

“By instinct, Anakin. The Force made you for this. It's part of your soul.”

_You're going to die, Obi-Wan Kenobi._

_Unhelpful. Stop._

They snuck into the Senate building, reached the Chancellor's office.

Obi-Wan could sense the Sith within. The nexus of the disaster ripping the light apart.

At the doorway Anakin paused.

Warning lights wailed through the building.

Enemies would arrive any minute.

“Remember. We win by surviving.”

Obi-Wan gave him a smile. The boy needed it. The boy stepping into the center of an ancient prophecy, where one sacrifice had been made and another had yet to be made.

Oh, he  _hoped_ Anakin survived. With all his heart.

Maybe the prophecy was incorrect.

Either way it fell for Anakin surviving the night...

_I won't._

“I will buy you as much time as I can, but there won't be much of it.”

Anakin didn't argue.

Obi-Wan wondered if his friend finally faced up to what was happening here.

_Maybe if I can hold them off long enough, he'll have the time to bring Balance_ and  _survive._

It's not like Obi-Wan was too keen on surviving if Anakin didn't.

The glance they exchanged was full of meaning, and then Anakin was gone and Obi-Wan turned to face the horde rushing towards him.

Senate commandos, Palpatine's personal guards, clone troopers...

Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber.

 

* * *

 

The door slid shut behind Anakin.

Battle-noises from without could be heard, but they were muffled. A lifetime away.

Nearby lay Yoda's broken body. His blood painted strange sigils on the floor around him.

Anakin ignited his lightsaber.

The dark side was pulling at his soul from every direction, like it wanted to drag him into a million pieces. Rip him to death.

“Ah. Anakin.” Such a kind, fatherly voice. Palpatine looked up from where he sat at his desk. “I've been expecting you. Did you appreciate not having any guards barring your way?”

He didn't seem at all disturbed by Anakin's saber.

“How did you kill Yoda?” Anakin asked, prowling forward.

“His death was long set into the fabric of existence,” Palpatine said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “and it seals my hold on the future. Nothing can be done about it now. Destiny cannot be prevented, Anakin. I thought I had taught you that.”

Anakin's eyes narrowed in a glare. “It's _my_ destiny to take you down. The Force feels putrid. It's decaying. It's been perverted. Violated by your sorcery. Everything is coming undone, and I _must_ set it right.”  
Palpatine smiled, stood, and came around his desk to lean against its front. There was a low laugh in his voice as he spoke. “Yes, you must. The only problem is that the decay calls to you. It's why you didn't bring Master Kenobi in with you. You left him out there against impossible odds to die so he couldn't stop you.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan battled like he never had in his life before. He didn't know he _could_ fight like this.

He could spare no attention on the room behind him. He felt cut off from it.

Anakin was on his own, whatever he might be facing.

The battle here was too consuming. Too much.

If he retracted a fraction of a thought, he would die.

And then it would be over.

Anakin wouldn't have time to defeat the Sith.

So he focused.

 

* * *

 

Anakin gripped his saber tight, the blood draining from his knuckles. “You're wrong.”

“Don't lie to me, my boy.” Palpatine shrugged away his protest. “I've known you too long to be deceived so easily. You _want_ power.”

“I don't need it.”  
“Not even to protect those you love?”

Anakin sprang forward, and could see the surprise in the Sith's eyes as he struck.

A red lightsaber deflected his blow, but just barely.

“They can take care of themselves. I have faith in them. They don't need it to be  _me_ who rescues them from everything.”  
“This is new,” the Sith snarled. “What happened to the boy who thought only  _he_ could keep others safe?”

“I tried  _listening_ to the people I love and trusting them. I realized I was selfish, and I didn't want to be that person anymore. You've tried to handicap me through fear all my life. I don't need you. ”

“Will you be so cavalier when your wife lies dying in childbirth?”

_And now you've tipped your hand._

_You know about my dreams..._

_Because you_ sent  _them to me._

_They're false._

_Just like everything else you ever told me._

The betrayal was profound, but he didn't have time to think about it now. Obi-Wan couldn't hold back the tide forever.

So Anakin Skywalker  _fought_ .

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan felt himself tiring.

Knew he couldn't last much longer.

And then...

He knew he was _needed_.

Summoning the Force, he released it in a massive explosion, utterly unleashing himself to its power.

Opponents flew away like broken dolls, columns collapsed, both ceiling and floor gave way, and then more from above, leaving the office completely isolated by massive meters of rubble.

The door slid open and he rushed inside, only pausing to melt the door shut.

A horrible quiet lay across the room.

There was Yoda.

Dead.

There was Palpatine.

Dead.

But the death of the Sith had done nothing to stop the collapse of the Force.

Anakin knelt on the floor between the bodies. Obi-Wan could sense he was wounded, but couldn't see where. His lightsaber lay broken on the floor nearby.

Obi-Wan could sense, almost  _see_ Anakin's desperate efforts to reverse what Palpatine had done. Blood seeped from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.

But things were too far gone. The Force had fallen off the cliff.

The death rate rose by the second, weakening the Jedi ever more.

Obi-Wan could sense nothing from the Temple except a raging black hole.

_They're gone,_ he knew.  _All of them. Down to the youngest infant._

“The Force isn't healing,” Anakin ground through clenched teeth.

The rot Palpatine infused into it had permeated too thoroughly.

“It's too dark. Too destroyed—”

The effort was going to kill Anakin.

He wasn't even going to succeed. The Chosen One was too broken.

And then it all became clear to Obi-Wan.

He knew how the pieces fit together.

Anakin crashed to the floor, rolled onto his back. His body jolted, shattering more and more as his mind fought something far too strong.

Obi-Wan knelt beside him.

“I can't— I don't have the strength—” Anakin whimpered.

“Use mine. You're thinking too hard. Stop thinking. Use your instincts.” Obi-Wan took Anakin's metal hand, placed it against his head.

Anakin's eyes rolled up and went white.

Light spilled from them, casting garish shadows across the furniture and corpses in the room.

The Chosen One's body levitated a few centimeters, going slack.

Obi-Wan felt power draining from him through Anakin's fingertips.

It was so tiring, and he was already so tired...

Obi-Wan leaned his face into Anakin's fingers, letting his eyes close against the searing light pouring out of him.

He hoped the boy would survive this.

He wasn't sure if that was possible.

If the prophecy was to be believed, the likelihood was low.

_We're going to die here together._

As long as they saved the galaxy, that wasn't such a bad way to go.

And if they failed...

It was an even better way.

And then something changed. Shifted. Obi-Wan knew what was coming.

_My death._

_It's here._

It had been harder to wait for it, not knowing just when it would strike.

Now? Obi-Wan only felt peace and relief.

No more wondering.

No more waiting.

No more second-guessing and searching the silent Force for answers.

He felt more alive in this moment than he had in years, and more right than any time in his life. Even when he tried to die for Qui-Gon.

_It was never supposed to be you. It was for your boy,_ he knew.

Anakin's hand moved, pressed into Obi-Wan's chest.

Through the tunics, through the leather glove, Anakin's metal fingers felt hot...

And then they were burning _into_ him.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth for as long as he could, and then he cried out, refusing to pull away.

All of those years of training paid off as he commanded his muscles to keep him here, kneeling beside Anakin, no matter what happened next.

His skin and bone melted away, the fingers sinking into his chest.

They closed around his frantically beating heart, a heart racing from the pain.

Obi-Wan felt himself being drained.

_Yes,_ he thought to the Force.  _Take me, and spare him. Heal. Balance._

The grip in his chest tightened.

He couldn't breathe.

The fist tore free, taking his heart with it.

Obi-Wan collapsed over Anakin's body.

He should have been released into the Force. Scattered across its waves, unconscious, without a separate identity anymore.

But instead, he remained. Trapped.

The insanity of what Sidious had done was too great.

It would take too much, too much to resolve.

Anakin knew it.

And he chose to give it.

Obi-Wan heard Anakin's scream, felt it shattering through the universe as the boy abandoned himself to it.

Utterly surrendered.

And from a vantage point where he could see it all, Obi-Wan watched the Force slowly right itself.

 

* * *

 

Anakin wasn't exactly in his body at the moment. He hovered between life and death, utterly stunned by what had just taken place.

But he  _was_ aware enough to notice Obi-Wan leaving. His Master's sense beginning to fade, to disperse—

“ _No._ Obi-Wan. We win by  _living._ ”

He found his mind surrounded by a soothing, warming presence. Obi-Wan's.

“Oh, Anakin,” his Master murmured. “Sidious sealed his control by murdering Yoda. The Force broke with a life stolen. It could only be set right with a life freely given. I give mine.”

Pain shredded Anakin's heart. “No. No. It should be me. _I'm_ the Chosen One. It was _my_ responsibility, _my_ destiny—”

Obi-Wan caressed Anakin's face with a gentle, battle-scarred hand. “No. This is where _you were right._ The light may have won because of a death, but _I_ win because you _live._ ”

Anguished tears blurred Anakin's view of Obi-Wan. “Master.”

“Go back to Padmé, Anakin. Be there for her when your children are born.”

He knew.

Of course he knew.

He was dead.

But...

“Child _ren_ ?”

“The view is a bit clearer from here,” Obi-Wan murmured, wonder in his voice. It was replaced by sorrow a moment later. A grief that chilled Anakin to the core. “Don't lose heart. Your losses are heavy.”

Tears slipped down Anakin's face, and he couldn't bring himself to care. “I can lose Yoda. Losing you is so, so much worse.”

“I don't mean me.” Obi-Wan looked pained. So pained. “Anakin. Hold on to your light even when you can't access it.” His image began to fragment, tiny pieces blowing away in unseen Force currents.

“I love you, Anakin. You were my brother and... like a son to me. Live your life fully.”

“Wait, _wait_ —”

But Obi-Wan's essence scattered into the Force, a thousand whispers in all directions.

He no longer existed as a single entity.

No longer a consciousness.

No longer a _person._

Anakin's heart broke.

The pain was so great it drove him back into his body.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of tragedy, where do you go next?

Anakin lay on the floor in total darkness.

He didn't dare reach out to the Force, knowing Obi-Wan would be gone.

He couldn't take that just yet.

How long had he been out? It must still be night.

No, no...

That wouldn't explain the pitch black of the room.

The window should be letting in _some_ light. Coruscant was never _dark._

Unless everything had been destroyed during the Force's surge through him.

_Padmé._

Anakin reached out to the Force to try to find her _—_

He couldn't—

It wasn't—

The Force wasn't  _there_ —

_“Your losses are heavy.”_ His Master's words rang through his head like a death-knell.  _“I don't mean me.”_

Panic, raw and horrible, shattered through him.

No. No.

_No._

He had just  _saved_ the Force.

How could it  _abandon_ him?

He couldn't feel it at  _all_ . It felt like it had been  _torn_ from him—

He had  _always_ felt the Force. Always. Now it was  _missing_ and he couldn't find it.

Something had to be covering his eyes.

He reached up to his face, his living fingers questing...

Pain, sudden and debilitating, drove him flat back against the floor, his feet kicking helplessly at it as he cried out.

_No._ That had to be a mistake. It  _couldn't_ —

He tried again.

He couldn't find eyelids.

There was some mistake  _somewhere_ —

Almost against his will, he pressed his fingertips deeper, waiting for pain to startle him awake. He needed contact with his eye _balls_ —

But no.

They weren't—

They were—

So it wasn't  _just_ the Force taken from him.

He was blind. And not just blind.

He didn't  _have_ eyes anymore.

The Force had burned out of him, out of reach...

And it had burned out his eyes.

Completely.

Feeling horrifically claustrophobic, he became aware of other sensations.

Wet.

So much wet.

Rubbing his fingers together to test the texture, he brought them to his nose.

Blood.

A  _lot_ of it.

He was  _soaked_ in it.

_Is it mine?_

Something lay heavily across him. Limp.

Soft.

His gut clenched and his stomach heaved as he suspected what it was.

He reached out his living hand anyway.

Found rough cloth, also wet.

Ran his hand up, trying to find his Master's neck for a pulse, for hope beyond hope—

Found a gaping hole.

His fingers fell into it before he realized what was coming.

The sharp edges of bone.

Blood.

The place where—

No. He could _feel_ the torn emptiness—

It couldn't be _missing_ —

There was something in his metal hand.

His right hand.

It couldn't be.

Oh, please, _Force_ , it couldn't—

Jerking his fingers away from Obi-Wan's wound, he reached over to his right palm.

Smooth muscle, slick with blood.

Cold.

Still.

The shape—

He could feel the ragged edges where it had been ripped free from his Master's system.

His heart.

He'd torn Obi-Wan's heart out.

Uncontrollably shaking, a noise escaped him. Something between a whimper and a gasp.

_He didn't resist me._

Dimly, he remembered Obi-Wan giving himself to him.

_He knew. He_ knew  _he was going to die._

His Master had been so calm, so soothing—

The possibility of what might happen hadn't crossed Anakin's mind.

He lay frozen.

He couldn't just drop Obi-Wan's _heart_ on the floor.

He couldn't see, couldn't sense—

The way out was blocked, he _did_ remember that; he didn't know what time it was, or how close the enemy might be.

He felt at his wrist, but his communicator was broken.

_Have to call Padmé._

He touched his Master's body again, found his wrist.

_That_ comlink was still functional.

Anakin commed his wife.

“Obi-Wan?” came her worried voice.

Anakin's heart seized. “It's Anakin,” he choked. “I'm hurt. I'm in the Chancellor's office and I can't get out. I can't see. Something happened to my eyes. You have to get me out of here; I don't know when the clones will break through. Palpatine is dead. Obi-Wan—”

He trembled.

_Forgive me, forgive me_ , he begged.

Obi-Wan wouldn't hear it.

Couldn't.

Not anymore.

“He's dead.”

He heard Padmé's shuddering gasp. “We're coming for you, Anakin. We'll be there in a moment.”

He heard a speeder from the direction that probably was the window.

She'd _already_ been coming.

That was so his wife.

Child _ren_ ?

That meant she survived giving birth to  _this_ one, in order to have more.

At least there was that.

Glass shattered, spraying him with shards. He tried instinctively to protect the heart he held from them.

“Anakin!”

Not the voice he was expecting, but familiar all the same.

Sweet Force. He—

“Ahsoka?” he called.

Liquid seeped from his eyes, but it wasn't the right consistency for tears.

He heard a soft curse; recognized it as Bail's voice.

“Lie still, General. Kix here will help you. Jesse, Wolffe, Gregor— guard the door. Senator Organa, help me move General Kenobi's body to the speeder.”

And that was Rex.

Anakin felt the body lifted off him.

Felt someone tenderly take the heart from his hand.

“Take Master Yoda too,” Padmé directed. “Leave  _him_ .”

Anakin couldn't feel the hatred in her voice directed at Palpatine, but he could sure  _hear_ it.

_But it wasn't Palpatine who killed Obi-Wan._

Anakin felt a hand tenderly touch his face. “Oh,  _Anakin_ ...”

His wife.

“We need to get him where I can have access to equipment,” Kix spoke up. “We need to get out of here.  _Fast._ ”

_“They're coming for you!”_ a voice called over com.  _“Get out of there!”_

Anakin recognized the voice.

Satine.

His soul broke just a bit more.

Strong arms lifted him, and he blacked out from the pain.

 

* * *

 

Satine kept moving.

If she slowed down, she was going to collapse.

The retrieval team made it back to the  _Terror,_ and the  _Terror_ made it to hyperspace.

Ahsoka was at the helm, putting her best disappearing skills to use.

They would make several small jumps to throw off any pursuit, and then retreat.

Anakin lay in critical condition, a quiver away from death. Kix hovered over him, doing what he could.

“Auntie. Don't you think you should sit for a moment? I can get the Naberries settled.” Korkie laid a hand on his aunt's shoulder.

Satine couldn't afford to think about how much her nephew had grown. How kind and perceptive...

Attributes that always made her think of Obi-Wan—

She couldn't afford to slow down.

“No, that's alright, Korkie. It's quite a shock to them. Ripping them up out of their home  _and_ learning they have a son-in-law and that son-in-law is—  _hurt_ — and—”

The hand didn't leave her shoulder, and the fingers squeezed, just a little. “You're not alright, Auntie.”

“I can't think about that right now. There's nothing I can do for Anakin, Ahsoka's the best person to fly the ship, there's  _nothing_ I can do for Mandalore, there's nothing I can do for the  _Jedi_ and— all that's left are the other people on this ship. So I'm going to help them.”

She pulled away from Korkie and hurried down the hall.

When everything had gone so horribly wrong on Mandalore and everywhere else in the galaxy all at once, Bo-Katan had given her the Terror and told her to go help her Jedi.

The ship was certainly large enough for a lengthy stay, and it had the weapons and stealth to keep them safe as long as they were careful. It even had suits of beskar'gam belonging to fallen warriors who didn't need them anymore.

But it wasn't very comfortable, not for civilians who'd never known a warrior's life.

Of the people on the Terror, that meant the Naberries.

So Satine hurried to make the displaced family as comfortable as possible.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka sat in the pilot's chair, desperately wishing she was at Anakin's side.

But she was the best at vanishing with hyperspace jumps, as well as the second-best pilot onboard.

She could sit with her former Master once they were hidden.

So she put everything else out of her mind, and focused on escape.

Everything had seemed so  _clear_ on Mandalore, just a painful collection of hours ago. So whole.

She was no longer a Jedi, but she and Anakin had made peace with it. She was back in the fight to protect the innocent, and  _that_ felt right too.

Anakin had to leave for Utapau, but he left Torrent Company with her to help her and Bo-Katan's Mandalorians defeat Maul. Satine had been a very present force, even if she didn't help fight. She was the leader who could unite old-style Mandos with newer, gentler Mandalorians, and while the former fought for Mandalore, the latter fought for  _her_ .

They remembered Maul's grievous wounding of her, just months ago.

And they were sick of his rule.

Some enemies couldn't be reasoned with. Darth Maul was one, and Satine knew it. The only way to protect her people was to evict him.

Mandalorian, former Jedi, and clone fought side-by-side against the Sith and his traitorous horde.

They were even winning.

And then Order 66 had come.

Those in Torrent company who had listened to Fives and removed their chips found themselves pitted against their brothers, who had lost interest in Maul and attacked Ahsoka instead.

The battle had splintered, Maul's forces regrouped, and there had been a mass fleeing.

Bo-Katan's spies informed her the clone betrayal was happening  _everywhere_ , but Ahsoka didn't need that to know.

The Force wept with blood.

Between Maul's Mandalorians and the chip-driven clones, they'd been driven from the safehouses and left no other option.

They would have to go into hiding.

Immediately.

But there were a few who couldn't join them. Not yet.

Ahsoka. The clones. Satine. Korkie.

Ahsoka knew Anakin was headed back to Coruscant. Satine pointed out Obi-Wan was already there.

The heart of the raging darkness.

Bo-Katan had turned over the Terror _,_ wished them luck, and promised to stay in contact as she took her vode into deep concealment.

As the others worked their way to Coruscant, Rex contacted brothers in other battalions, the ones he knew had removed the chips, and the Terror collected them as they went.

Satine had been the one to direct they include Padmé's family.

The Duchess' tactical skill kept surprising Ahsoka, though she supposed it shouldn't.

Just because she had chosen to lead her people in a path of nonviolence didn't mean she was  _incapable._

Or untrained.

Ahsoka hadn't wanted to do that  _first,_ had wanted to find  _Anakin_ first, but the Force nudged her to listen to Satine.

She complied.

After all, Rex said Order 66 had come in straight from Palpatine. A man who had proved himself to be a tactical genius.

If they succeeded in getting Anakin out of Coruscant, the first pressure Palpatine would put to him to try to draw him back would be Padmé, or even better, her family. Even if he was willing to risk  _her,_ and Ahsoka knew he  _wouldn't_ , there was no way in Kessel he could risk her  _heart._

The Naberries hadn't wanted to leave, but the immediate threat to Padmé and her nieces drew them without much of an argument.

They'd found Padmé, closeted with Bail and Mon Mothma and trying to figure out  _what_ could be done to reverse the emergency congress that had appointed Palpatine Emperor.

Padmé knew where Obi-Wan and Anakin had gone.

And that Yoda was dead.

Ahsoka could sense there was no one left at the Temple to rescue. It burned her heart.

It still did.

And the loss of Obi-Wan...

She would never forget breaking through that window and finding that sight.

In her seat she shuddered, feeling much younger than her seventeen years.

How had the universe gone so horrible so fast?

 

* * *

 

Padmé refused to leave Anakin's side, even though Kix urged her to rest.

She might lose him.

If Yoda and Obi-Wan could die...

So could her Ani.

Bail and Mon Mothma had stayed on Coruscant to fight the political battle, and Padmé knew they needed her. It didn't change the fact she'd boarded the Terror with Anakin and hadn't looked back once.

Her friends understood.

She hoped they could manage without her, but either way, she couldn't abandon her husband in this condition.

Hours dragged by as Kix fought against death with Anakin as the prize.

Padmé knew loved ones were nearby, coming in, sitting with her, trying to talk to her, trying to convince her to sleep, to eat, who  _knew_ what else.

Parents... sister...  _Rex,_ even.

She couldn't hear them.

There was only one face she hadn't seen since the retrieval.

Satine's.

_I should be there for her, trying to help comfort her,_ she thought.  _I'm the only friend she has on this ship. And she needs to know what Obi-Wan said._

But that's as far as it went.

Though she might feel some guilt, it wasn't enough to drag her away. She  _couldn't_ leave this bedside.

_Oh, Ani..._

And then the labor-pains started. A week early.

 

* * *

 

Word spread through the ship faster than a blaster bolt.

Ahsoka still had her hands full directing the ship. They were far from safe yet.

Kix couldn't leave Anakin's side, or they  _would_ lose him.

None of the Naberries had midwifing experience, let alone Kix's brothers and Korkie.

Relieved,  _so_ relieved to have something that required  _every_ moment of her attention, the Duchess took over.

It had been a long time since she presided over a birth.

But she certainly remembered  _how,_ and she had much better facilities this time _._

It wouldn't be for hours, Padmé's contractions weren't very close together as of yet, so Satine used the time to turn one of the rooms into a birthing area. Korkie was always right there, ready to fetch things, assist in moving heavy objects, and anything else she might need.

Anakin wasn't here to take care of his wife and child. Yes. Padmé had admitted it in those first horrible moments. Nobody seemed very surprised.

Ahsoka also wasn't able to be here, and Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan couldn't either.

_It's up to me._

Obi-Wan had seen Anakin as a son.

To a Mandalorian psyche, that made Padmé's baby Obi-Wan's grandchild.

_Aliit ori'shya tal'din,_ Satine's people said.  _Family is something greater than blood._

Obi-Wan had loved these people. It made them his family.

Satine loved Obi-Wan.

That made them  _hers_ .

Both mother and infant were going to receive the best care Satine could manage.

It was all she could do for Obi-Wan now.

Take care of his family.

_My aliit._

She kept busy, kept Korkie busy, and kept an eye on Rex and Padmé.

The clone captain paced the halls with his General's wife, following Kix's instructions to the letter, despite the Senator's protests.

 

* * *

 

Bail did his best as the Senate raged over the death of their newly-made Emperor.

Only a few voices joined his.

And with Senator Amidala unavailable...

Yes, Bail did his best.

No.

It wasn't anywhere near enough to turn the tide.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka answered the secure call. “Yes, Senator Organa?”

“You were right to run. It's not safe, and I doubt it will be any time soon. Mas Amedda is the temporary custodian of the empire until a new Emperor can be appointed. He's spinning Palpatine's death into a martyrdom, and at the moment you are the most-wanted— and valuable— beings in the galaxy.”  
“The bounty is that big?”  
“I imagine any bounty hunter with two brain cells is salivating. I also have worse news.”

The white curve over Ahsoka's left eye arched. “Worse?”  
“Tarkin is his strategic adviser. Their immediate priorities are to make sure the Empire's citizens are secure— from leftover Separatist cells, from any Jedi who may have escaped, and you lot. Between Amedda and Tarkin, I don't think the Empire will feel Palpatine's loss too heavily. I have the feeling Amedda might have been in on Palpatine's plan from the start.”

Ahsoka sighed, rubbing her aching forehead.

“Also, you were wise to snatch the Naberries. A strike team has been sent to their home, ostensibly to see if Skywalker is hiding out there. It's obvious to anyone not closing their eyes they plan to take them into custody for an indefinite amount of time.”

Satine and the Force had been right.

They wouldn't have had time to rescue the Naberies _after_ the Coruscant raid.

Ahsoka nodded. “I'll let them know. I think it will erase any further hesitation they may have felt. Though I'm sure by now that someone has told them about Maul and Satine. After that, it's impossible to think family members might be left alone.”

“How is Anakin?”

“The same.”

“I'll contact you again when it's safe. May the Force be with you all.”

“And with you. Thank you, Senator Organa.”

“It's the least I can do.” The man's sadness spoke from his eyes. “I just wish we'd arrived in time to save Master Kenobi.”

Ahsoka's throat closed up. “He will be missed,” she somehow managed to whisper.

 

* * *

 

“Is it taking too long?” Padmé worried, many hours later, in between contractions.

“No,” Satine assured her.

“Because Anakin was having nightmares— he was afraid I'd die, or the baby, or _both_ —”

“Just keep breathing,” her sister Sola encouraged. “I've done this twice, remember.”

“But Anakin should be here for this, and he's going to miss it—”

Jobal caressed her daughter's cheek with her hand. “I know, sweetheart. But we're here, and soon you're going to meet your baby. Think of the wonderful surprise that will be for Anakin when he wakes up. A healthy you, a healthy baby, all his worrying pointless. And you know he'd be in agony right about now if he was awake. Completely terrified—”

“ _And_ completely useless,” Sola pointed out.

They giggled, Padmé included.

And then the contractions were too close together, and all hint of laughter went very, very far away from them all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Guide:
> 
> Beskar'gam (Pronounced /bess-car-GAM/) = Mandalorian armor  
> Vode (Pronounced /VOE-day/) = Brothers/Sisters/Comrades  
> Aliit ori'shya tal'din (Pronounced /ah-LEET or-EESH-yeah tal-DEEN/) = Family is more important than blood


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories... memories... memories...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanings of Colors in Mandalorian Culture:
> 
> Blue: Reliability  
> Gray: Mourning a Lost Love
> 
> Mando'a Guide:
> 
> Mandokar (Pronounced /man-doh-car/) = The “right stuff.” Most important.  
> Beskar'gam (Pronounced /bess-car-GAM/) = Mandalorian armor  
> Dar'manda (Pronounced /dar-man-dah/) = No longer Mandalorian. Very emotional. Worst thing possible for a Mandalorian, far worse than death. Complete disowning by family, clan, planet. You are considered a coward, a traitor.  
> Jetii (Pronounced /JAY-tee/) = Jedi   
> Aruela (Pronounced /ah-roo-ay-lah/) = Traitorous  
> Aayhan (Pronounced /AY-ee-han/) = Perfect moment of bittersweet joy. Grief and celebration, all wrapped up in one. A concept central to the Mandalorian mind.

The birth had been long and difficult, but it was over.

Mother and twins were alive.

The twins in much better shape than Padmé.

Knocked flat with exhaustion, the Senator slept while Sola and Jobal took care of the infants.

Ruwee was somewhere else, looking after Ryoo and Pooja.

Satine had no idea where the clones might be. Rex had given up his place by Anakin's side to Ahsoka.

Maybe they were asleep.

Korkie stood beside her, looking concerned. “Aunt Satine. You need to sleep. Your body can't keep going. The Naberries don't need you right now. Master Skywalker doesn't either. Everyone is in the best hands possible except for you.”

“Korkie, if I stop moving—”

Korkie drew her deeper down the hallway to ensure they wouldn't be overheard. “Auntie,” he said, his voice tender as he looked her in the eyes, “you can't run from it forever.”

Satine felt tears burn across her eyes. “What has been done with him?”  
“He's in a preserving coffin at the moment. We have time. You _need sleep._ ”

It wouldn't be coming, though. Not tonight. Not until the very early hours of the morning.

Satine knew how her body responded to grief.

This grief was greater than any she'd experienced before.

_I have hours yet before I will be able to sleep._

There was no point in tossing and turning until then.

“I want you to get the largest tub you can find on board, place it near the body and fill it with water. Then I want you to stand outside the door as sentinel.”

The word made Korkie frown in surprise. “You're going to give him Mandalorian rights? The old way?”

Satine lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “Not all of them. Anakin may want to give him a Jedi sendoff. That's his right to decide, when he wakes up.”

Korkie opened his mouth to insist she  _rest_ again but she forestalled it.

“I  _cannot_ sleep while he lies dead in filth.”

Korkie gave her a nod. “You know where he is?”

“Yes.”

She'd been avoiding it.

_Not anymore._

“Auntie.”  
A gentle hand on her elbow stayed her.

Obi-Wan had so often caught her attention that way. The memories made it difficult to breathe.

“I don't know what condition the body is in. I haven't seen it. It... might be bad,” Korkie warned.

“I expect it to be.”

Korkie went one way, Satine another.

The likelihood anyone would disturb her was slim. None of the clones had been under Obi-Wan's command, and everyone else was tied to either Anakin or Padmé.

Satine's earlier rummagings had turned up a gray tunic and dark pants.

She dressed in them now. They were a bit large, so she cinched the waist with a belt.

Gray was far more appropriate than blue at the moment.

No one on the ship but Korkie would understand the significance.

Obi-Wan would have.

He'd studied her culture, even though he knew she'd intended to alter so much of it.

_And yet now, at the end of things, I'm returning to so much._

Words of her mother tongue. Gestures. Symbols.

Did it make her weak?

She'd been born a warrior. Raised a warrior. She'd given her all to trying to help her people find a better way, and now she stood in the wreckage of it all.

She was left with a strange amalgamation of soldier and mediator.

She didn't regret the warrior. She didn't regret the pacifist.

Every step of the way, she'd tried to do what was right, as far as she'd been able to see it.

And now?

She hadn't the faintest clue what came next.  _Who_ came next.

She wondered if this is what Obi-Wan had felt like at the beginning of the Clone War.

A peacekeeper who hated violence, yet couldn't see any way of protecting the innocent when the galaxy was steeped in it  _without_ using it.

Warrior and Intercessor.

Her comlink chimed.

Her sister.

Satine answered. “What is wrong?”

“Everything and nothing. We're fine at the moment. You?”

It was a strategic touching of bases.

It still felt awkward.

“Did you save your Jedi?”

“No.”

Bo-Katan started, apparently baffled by her calm. “What do you mean  _no_ ? He's resilient, he survives anything. I don't live under a rock.”  
“He's dead.”

Silence stretched between them.

Bo-Katan shifted her position. “I'm sorry.”

“Thank you.” Satine had no idea what  _else_ to say. It had been a long time since Bo had expressed any sort of concern for her. Back before she'd been disowned for her beliefs.

Before she'd been declared  _dar'manda._

That was a wound that still hurt, decades later.

“He had the mandokar,” Bo-Katan spoke up.

The statement stunned Satine. Stole her breath.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, he did.”

Bo-Katan gave her a nod and her hologram disappeared.

Satine stood staring at the holodisc.

She couldn't quite believe her sister had  _actually_ accepted Obi-Wan. A  _jetii._ Someone who upheld Satine in her  _aruela_ ways.

It was a sweetness she hadn't expected to taste.

She gathered up clean cloths and went to him.

Satine had been flying the Terror during the Coruscant raid. When the retrieval party had returned, it was Rex who had come to the cockpit to tell her Obi-Wan hadn't made it.

Ahsoka had taken the pilot's chair.

It allowed Satine to take note of a few things.

The way Ahsoka wouldn't look her in the eye.

The way Rex's face was drawn with tight lines.

There was something more to this than pity for her loss.

There was fear lurking that she would ask for details. Also, a hint of guilt.

There were two options.

Either the death had been gruesome, or they felt survivor's guilt.

Satine suspected both.

_Knew_ it, when she discovered the coffin's top was in its opaque mode. She tapped a control and it cleared.

Yes.

This would do it.

The gaping hole in the chest, the missing heart. Eyes open and vacant. The blood-drenched robes.

There was a small temperature-regulation box nearby.

That would be the heart.

Upon inspection, Satine discovered her guess to be accurate.

Korkie had been concerned, but he needn't have been.

Jedi, after Mandalorians were done with them, routinely looked far worse.

The lid retracted at Satine's insistence.

The stench hit her nostrils.

Blood.

He'd been dead long enough for the feces and urine smells to be present as well.

Some people thought that trio, combined with decay, comprised death's smell.

They were wrong.

Satine knew that if you could clear those away, you would be left with an odor that clung to your fingernails. Whispered in the back of your mind. Took days for you to leave behind.

_That_ was the smell of death. The other scents only distracted you from it.

And no one who hadn't lived with it, had their hands buried in it, would know what it was.

Korkie arrived with the water, and silently helped his aunt place the fallen Jedi on a clean hover stretcher. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Satine stood for a long moment, simply looking down at her love.

It had always been a toss-up, who would die first.

Obi-Wan, with his peacekeeping and then military exploits, or Satine, with her near-constant struggles with extremists.

Here they were.

She took one last look at the eyes that used to express so much, and then she closed the lids.

There was an art to body preparation. With the correct leverage and knowledge, it could be accomplished by a single person.

Satine certainly had the knowledge.

She even had experience.

She draped his tunics over the edge of the coffin, added his obi, belt, and leggings.

Boots she set on the floor.

One layer left.

Satine hesitated for a long moment.

Her people didn't consider nudity to be embarrassing, or particularly sexual by nature. It  _could_ be, of course, but they saw the body primarily as a weapon. Flesh and bone deceived. They had nothing to do with who a person was  _inside._

Skin was a trick of genetics. Something you were handed.

Not something that expressed  _you._

Beskar'gam, carefully crafted to represent everything an individual was and held dear, was infinitely more intimate than an unclothed body.

Certainly had more significance. More truth.

In certain ways, Obi-Wan's view had been similar.

Only it wasn't  _armor_ that was intimate.

It was the mind and the lightsaber.

He too viewed his body primarily as a means of locomotion and interacting with a physical world.

But unlike Satine, who hadn't particularly cared if  _others_ viewed her body as inherently sexual or not, Obi-Wan  _did._

That had resulted in a close, careful modesty that baffled Satine. It wasn't only aimed at himself, but at  _her_ too.

She'd tried to respect it, even in that harsh year so long ago now. It would have been easier to  _not_ worry about keeping herself fully clothed whenever he might be nearby, but he had been so distressed that first time he'd caught her bathing in the river that she'd realized that if their relationship was to flourish, she was going to need to be a bit more discrete.

It didn't make sense to her.

Every individual who'd ever been interested in her before had been quite happy to find her less than clothed. Just because a body wasn't intimate didn't mean it didn't  _attract._

It was another baffling thing about the young Jedi assigned to protect her.

He had never allowed her to see him. Never allowed her to touch him.

It had frustrated her to no end at the time, given the fact he so desperately  _wanted_ to give in. She'd seen it, she'd confronted him over it, he hadn't denied it.

He'd  _admitted_ it.

It hadn't ended in passionate kissing and sex.

It had ended with his eyes begging her to understand, and him leaving the cabin.

Satine would have felt scorned if he hadn't looked so inadequate for disappointing her.

Her ego, as large as a Mandalorian's usually is, had tried to be angry. The only problem was something else, also intensely Mandalorian, warred with it.

Her attraction to power.

The young Jedi wasn't unattractive physically, but it wasn't his looks that had drawn her towards him so strongly.

It was that control over himself.

_That's_ what had turned him into a magnet for her.

Her people didn't have that kind of power. They gave in to any and every impulse that crossed their minds, anywhere from murderous to amorous to both. They were very powerful, certainly, but their power was over  _others._

Obi-Wan was a creature the likes of which she'd never encountered before.

A being who felt  _intensely_ , who wanted just as badly as any person she'd ever known...

But who knew how to tell himself  _no,_ based on his code of ethics.

He believed in his code. Completely.

Satine's code had been completely different. To her way of thinking, his personal choices made no sense.

But she couldn't help but respect his mastery over self.

Whether she agreed with his beliefs or not...

She'd drooled over his power.

She'd been raised to adore power.

She knew from personal experience it was much easier to have power over  _others_ , than power over  _self._

To her way of thinking, that made Obi-Wan Kenobi the strongest person she'd ever met.

She'd been lost from there.

Their love had been strange. A song full of yearning. Quiet joy and pain.

Her people had a word for it.  _Aayhan._

To be in love and  _not_ have a sexual component went against everything she'd ever seen in her culture growing up.

It was normal to his.

To be in love and not have the loved one answer to  _you_ , belong to you, was also unfamiliar and bizarre for her...

And also completely normal for a Jedi.

The first few years had been the hardest.

She thought he was missing out. Thought he had to be frustrated and feeling stilted by his beliefs.

It had taken her a while to realize he found intense comfort and release in other places than sex.

He could sit with her for hours, eyes closed, head leaned back, breathing in her Force signature, an expression of absolute bliss on his face.

It felt like learning another language, but once she realized he didn't view himself as deprived but  _different,_ she'd tried to understand.

Instead of fretting over the fact he didn't have sex in his life and her confidence he  _should_ ...

Maybe she could learn what it was that  _did_ draw him. The connections he found so precious. Instead of looking at him through  _her_ interpretation of attraction and love... why not take the time to discover how  _he_ expressed  _himself_ ?

That was how it started.

Her people held what was dear to them with tightly clenched fists, holding it close and refusing to share or let go.

His people held with an open hand.

They knew how to enjoy the moment without anger when the moment ended. They didn't feel robbed, because they never felt they had  _owned_ the moment.

They didn't feel they _deserved_ people or moments. Each was a gift. They never expected to be allowed to keep it forever, so they savored it in the now. They weren't shocked or resentful when it was gone, because they had never thought they _possessed_ it.

Her people thought of Jedi as fools because they didn't revel in the present, didn't live with abandon.

She discovered her people were a raging river. Never still, always loud.

His?

Their emotions ran deep as an ocean, with currents as powerful or more so than any her people obeyed... and they certainly lasted longer.

They just weren't as  _visible._

She realized he didn't view her as  _his love._

He loved her.

But she wasn't his.

It's why he'd never asked her for fidelity. He'd even told her that if she sought someone else out to meet her physical needs or fell in love, he wouldn't hold it against her. He'd even  _urged_ her to do so.

At the time it had felt like he was pushing her away, and the yearning in his eyes had been the ultimate in mixed signals.

Now, she understood.

_He needed me to to know I don't answer to him._

That also meant he didn't answer to  _her._

That had been a little difficult to accept.

She was used to boyfriends. People she could reasonably expect certain things from. They had responsibilities to her. Loyalty to her.

And she to them.

Love with a Jedi  _didn't_ have those things.

He was loyal to his ideals. His responsibility was to a galaxy.

He loved her.  _Intensely._ She could see it.

He would die for her in a heartbeat. Suffer any kind of torture to protect her. Shatter his own heart to see her happy.

But he wouldn't break his moral code for her. If he had to choose between saving her life and the lives of a hundred strangers, she knew he would  _try_ to save both.

If he couldn't...

He would save as many as he could.

He couldn't give himself to her because he'd given himself to a galaxy. To protect strangers as though they were beloved.

Out there, when in danger, friends and family looked out for one another. They put each other before other people's friends and families. It was how the universe worked.

But there were always the outcasts.

People who had  _no-one_ to look out for them.

Obi-Wan could have taken the life the rest of the galaxy did. He could have looked out for his own, cared only for his small sphere of important people.

But he didn't.

Instead, he swore himself to the alone. The outcasts. The individuals who were most vulnerable and had no one to rescue them.

He belonged to  _them._

And he would never break covenant with them.

If he put her before them, it meant they were back where they started.

Always rating second, if rating at all. Always the last to be rescued.

The ones it was okay to lose.

Alone.

He wouldn't allow it.

Her gut told her that meant he didn't love her.

Her heart and eyes told her something very different.

She saw it in the way he cared for her that wretched year of struggle in a wilderness. The way he looked at her in the following years.

He valued her more than he valued himself. Always put her first.

But there was one thing he wouldn't do for her.

He wouldn't violate his conscience.

She couldn't count the times she'd been told to force him to choose. That he couldn't have both, and she shouldn't let their bizarre relationship continue. That she should break his conscience, or break his heart.

But she was Mandalorian.

She'd never been particularly interested in doing what people  _told_ her to do.

It did leave her with puzzling questions, though.

If she didn't belong to him and he didn't belong to her, and she loved him so much her heart felt it would burst and he admitted he felt the same way, but he refused sexual intimacy, what in  _blazes_ was she to do?

They lived many planetary systems apart, saw one another rarely, and even their conversations over holo were few and far between.

Those on the outside had said their relationship was doomed to fail. That they didn't even  _have_ one. That Satine should forget the Jedi and move on.

Qui-Gon Jinn hadn't said that.

He hadn't said that at  _all._

When she'd vented her frustration to him, he'd said something that had never left her.

A relationship with a Jedi was a different thing than other relationships.

It had different sources of joy and intimacy. Different griefs. Different hardships.

Different ways of communicating and communing.

If Satine wanted someone who would meet all of her needs the way she'd been raised to expect them to be met, the relationship would not work. Either Obi-Wan would have to pull away, or he would have to give up his dream for her. Allow her to remake him into something he wasn't, in order to please her. In order to keep her.

The words had sobered her to the core.

In the following weeks she made her choice.

She loved Obi-Wan Kenobi.

And she  _didn't_ want him to change into something he wasn't. She didn't want him to deny who he was in order to love her in return.

She didn't want their love to be about reshaping them, but about valuing who they  _were_ .

She had her dreams. He had his.

She wanted,  _needed_ to save her people.

He wanted,  _needed_ to guard the defenseless.

They weren't so unlike one another as she'd thought at first.

Qui-Gon had said something else too...

Jedi didn't view time quite the same way as others. Because they reveled in moments, they were able to recall those moments on long missions. Live them again.

The Jedi would feel the loved one was always with them. Always helping, always comforting.

He also said it was unlikely that Obi-Wan, young though he might be, would find another love. Because of the deep control Jedi learned to exert over themselves, they didn't oscillate over small things. Time and space would be unlikely to drive wedges, and accumulating annoyances wouldn't be enough to push him away. They might annoy him, certainly, but they wouldn't be able to sway his devotion.

He loved her.

It wasn't a guarantee, of course, but it was highly likely he would love her until he drew his last breath. No matter what she decided. Whether she nurtured him or tried to destroy his soul. Whether she chose to reach out to him, or chose to reject him and stomp all over his heart.

Either way, he would be out there, watching out for her when he could, hoping for her happiness. Putting  _that_ above his own. Even if it meant staying out of her way.

She'd never encountered devotion like that before. Certainly not among her people. Unconditional love didn't  _exist_ for them. It was always predicated on behavior.

That's why her family had disowned her when she chose to put away her beskar'gam and blaster to follow her conscience.

Satine threw herself into discovering how to find intimacy with her Jedi.

No.

_Not_ my  _Jedi._

_The Jedi I love._

It required learning to hold with an open hand. To share. His time. His attention. His soul.

But when he was with her...

She was the only person in existence in the whole universe.

Without telling him first, she set to work to learn how to express love in a way he could accept.

Her studies paid off.

Big time.

Obi-Wan had already treasured her signature in the Force, but Qui-Gon had mentioned there were ways to make it even more compelling.

He hadn't taught her how. She'd had to find out for herself.

But knowing it was  _possible_ motivated her.

Satine taught herself how to quiet her mind, to center herself to create a Force signature that acted like a powerful lullaby.

She herself couldn't feel it, but she certainly saw its effect on Obi-Wan.

The look on his face when he first experienced it was reward enough for the effort invested.

The shock, the wonder...

For a moment he couldn't quite breathe.

And once he'd figured out she'd done it on purpose for  _him_ ?

She didn't need to be a Jedi to feel his adoration.

He  _craved_ it.

If they were on the same planet, he would find her in the evenings. Those early days after losing Qui-Gon and then later, as Anakin reached teenagerhood, had been the most tumultuous. He would seek her out for comfort.

It didn't matter how agitated he might start out, pacing and worrying aloud to her. If she closed her eyes and focused, she could drain away his frustration. His fear. His feelings of inadequacy.

He was helpless to resist.

Slowly, surely, infallibly... he succumbed.

And if she kept it up...

He would end up curled beside her, head resting on her knee, sound asleep. Every muscle relaxed, every worry gone.

She loved to watch him sleep. He looked so young, so vulnerable.

He  _trusted_ her to watch over him. He trusted her to respect his limits.

Obi-Wan Kenobi. A Jedi, trained to be wary, to be always watchful, to always be on guard...

Would let go of every self-preservatory barrier of mind and body in her presence and  _rest._

It felt amazing.

It felt like being allowed to hold an infinitely fragile, beautiful sculpture in her hands.

She would smooth the hair back from his forehead, and watch him breathe.

Obi-Wan didn't surrender control to anyone.

Anyone but her.

She watched over him, guarded him.

He knew she would not break his trust.

He found peace with her.

He would arrive, hunger in his eyes, and would leave, a calm satisfaction having replaced it.

Even more telling...

He kept coming back.

Whenever he possibly could.

Her people might have called it pathetic and repressed, but they didn't see the way he melted.

And really...

The only opinions that mattered were hers and Obi-Wan's.

And there was no question where the vote fell  _there._

She'd tried something new one day.

She'd thought about it long and hard beforehand, tried to make sure it wasn't going to cause the opposite of her intention.

She'd done her homework.

He was saying goodbye, early one morning when she reached up and placed her palm against the side of his face. She took care to make sure her body language and mind made it clear this was  _all_ she was attempting.

The split second of worry that had arisen vanished from his expression.

He relaxed...

And then his eyes rolled up, his eyelids fluttered shut, and he pressed into her hand with a quickly in-drawn breath.

Satine's heart had bounded.

It  _worked._

She'd found their embrace.

A way to say goodbye.

It didn't seem to matter that the gesture became familiar. Somehow, the caress of her fingers against his cheek would draw a shudder from him, making him completely lose track of whatever thought he'd been in the middle of, much less  _speech._

His surrender managed to convey so much. His trust. His gratitude, his intense,  _intense_ love.

He would take that moment of her hand against his face, and  _nothing else_ would exist.

Just them.

Just that pressure.

And everything it meant.

He would rest there, basking in her love, his pressure against her fingers a loud and clear avowal of his own.

It was gratifying, to say the least. Never failed to thrill her to the core.

And when he'd leave...

She'd feel strangely full. Oddly completed.

And she'd missed him. Horribly.

It was Obi-Wan who'd showed her something else, right before he left her that first morning with the face caress.

He'd reached up and taken her hand in his.

The touch startled her, and the gravity in his eyes sent fear and expectation stabbing through her heart.

He bowed his head over her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it.

She was a duchess. She'd experienced such a formality before.

Not the way Obi-Wan did it.

The word she wanted to use was passionate, and yet the gesture was anything but possessive. The strength of his love could wreck nations, destroy kingdoms...

And was condensed to a single, tiny moment and place.

Such a reserved gesture. So controlled.

So full of intensity.

It took her breath away, left her feeling utterly precious.

She watched him leave, convinced she was the luckiest Mandalorian to ever draw breath.

Bo-Katan would have been horrified that they had never shared a mouth-to-mouth kiss in all their years together. Bo would have been stunned to hear they'd never had sex.

Bo had her own ideas as to what their relationship must have been like, and Satine had never bothered to set her straight. Bo wouldn't have understood, and Satine certainly didn't have the words to explain it.

It couldn't be explained to someone who wasn't willing to try to understand.

Satine didn't want Bo's pity.

She'd felt fulfilled in her relationship with Obi-Wan in a way earlier partnerships had never reached, sex-filled though they might have been. She'd never felt so treasured, so beloved in her life.

And she'd never loved so fiercely in return.

These things hurt like hell to remember now, standing over his broken body. So empty, so cold.

Their moment, all nineteen glorious years of it, was passed.

She regretted the year and a half she'd spent furious with him for becoming a General. It had been such a pointless waste. Especially when she'd seen the broken longing in his eyes, begging forgiveness and she'd responded in betrayed frustration. He'd growled back, and the vicious cycle just kept turning.

_Finally_ she'd realized her resentment was pointless.

He'd forgiven her without a moment's hesitation, and hadn't held any of the cruel things she'd said in that time against her. That foolish,  _foolish_ Jedi. Qui-Gon had been right, all those years ago.

The time of estrangement had been brutal, and she knew she'd wounded him deeply. Yes.

But the fact remained they'd had so many years, so many  _many_ years where they took comfort in one another. Sometimes it was months between conversations, but the moments they had together were lived to the full.

And the treasured memory of them had carried them both through so many difficult times.

Aayhan.

Grief and rejoicing. All wrapped up in one.

Their moment was over.

But it had been beautiful. It had been adored as completely as possible. It had been a linking of souls across vast distance and time, a link only growing stronger as the years passed.

And no one could take it away.

She wanted to treat his body with the respect her people felt to be so important.

The question was... would he have considered it respect?

It's why she hesitated, reviewing their years together in her mind.

_The reason he never wanted us unclothed was because he didn't want me to gain false expectations. He didn't want to create misunderstanding._

_His love wasn't going to include his body that way._

Every instinct she possessed urged her to continue.

Bo-Katan had been right.

Obi-Wan Kenobi  _had_ possessed the mandokar.

He deserved to be treated accordingly.

Would he understand?

_He concealed his body out of consideration to me, not because he thought it sacred._

No. He wouldn't begrudge her this. He'd studied her culture. He'd  _known_ how important, how sacred the preparation of the beloved dead was. To bestow this care on an outsider, especially a  _jetii_ , was the greatest way she could honor him.

In life, they had sung their love using his language. In death, it was time to use hers.

She removed the undergarment, laying it aside.

It would be burned later.

And she continued to clear away the signs of brutality and anguish, the familiar ritual soothing her broken heart, giving outlet to her voiceless pain.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Kix. You need to sleep. Take a break, I'll sit with him.”

“But Sir—”

“I'm not your commanding officer anymore,” Ahsoka interrupted him. “He's basically stable?”

“As stable as I can make him at this time—”

“Then sleep. He will need your mind sharp. You don't have to leave, you can have a nap on the other bunk.”  
Kix gave her an unhappy nod.

Sleep took him with swift feet.

Ahsoka settled in the chair and leaned back.

Silence had fallen over the ship. A gentle flow of sleep that she could sense in the Force.

Sitting here... in the depth of the night as the minutes ticked by, Ahsoka's mind churned over what she very much wanted to forget.

Those horrible moments, when suffocating darkness sloughed so thick, so omnipotent.

She'd felt Anakin's desperation, his impending sense of failure screaming through the Force. She'd felt it met by Obi-Wan's... something.

It hadn't been harsh like Anakin's thrashing.

It had been pervading. It seeped into every corner of her mind. A gentle, quiet reassurance. A calm. A readiness. A...

Giving.

She'd felt Anakin taking it, stilling, and then going supernova. She'd nearly blacked out.

He was drawing, drawing, blazing—

And then Obi-Wan's death tolled through the Force.

A blow that left her speechless.

Anakin confirmed it, minutes later, over comm.

And then...

What they'd _found_ in that room...

Her former Master and his had always been crazy and reckless. Obi-Wan just as much so as Anakin.

In some ways more, despite popular opinion.

He'd been less attached to the idea of survival. He'd felt a good death was a reasonable option.

Anakin had  _never_ thought that.

What had they done?

What had...  _Anakin_ ... done?

Moments after Obi-Wan's death, Anakin had been severed from the Force.

Ahsoka had assumed he'd died as well, until he'd spoken to Padmé.

Something  _worse_ had happened to him. When she looked through the fabric of the Force, she couldn't find him.

She'd only been able to sense him when they were in the room with him.

Like... like he'd been a non-Force sensitive.

Was the Force punishing him for whatever he'd done to Obi-Wan?

Ahsoka had been overwhelmed by Anakin's horror and guilt the instant they'd broken through the window. They were almost as loud as his grief.

She was surprised the non-force-sensitives hadn't felt it.

It was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

Satine tenderly washed the auburn hair and beard, the face.

The blood on his skin had dried hours ago. She had to scrub to remove it.

Slowly, the marks of his slaughter yielded to her insistent touch.

The water in the tub darkened, she had to change cloths often, and it took time.

She didn't begrudge the time.

The preservation chamber had slowed the inevitable march towards rigor mortis. If his hand hadn't been so cold in hers, it could have been alive.

She cleaned under the fingernails, made sure no hint of the pain he'd endured remained.

He'd lost a vast amount of blood, all over Anakin from the looks of the younger Jedi's clothes. There was only a small amount of post mortem bruising, pooled in the soles of his feet, courtesy of the coffin being left upright.

With the body clean, Korkie helped her haul in a new batch of water.

“Let me help,” he urged. “You don't have to do this alone.”  
“He didn't mean anything to you.”

Korkie's gaze didn't flinch. “He meant everything to you. That's enough for me.”  
Satine gave him a nod, and he set to work cleaning the leather of the boots and belt.

Satine washed the tunics and leggings by hand, chafing fabric together to dislodge the gore, working the soap in between the fibers.

The familiarity of the ritual allowed her mind a break. A quietness she hadn't found before.

She hung the clothes to dry while she cleaned out the coffin, and then she turned her attention to the lightsaber.

_“This weapon is your life.”_

It's why she'd saved it for last.

She'd heard Qui-Gon impress the importance on Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had done the same with Anakin.

And Anakin with Ahsoka.

Even Ahsoka had imparted the command to younglings.

This lightsaber symbolized everything Obi-Wan  _was._

It was his beskar'gam. It was an expression of his very self.

It had his blood all over it.

This wasn't her first time holding it.

Once, long ago, Obi-Wan had placed it in her hands.

Because of her research, thank the  _Manda_ , she'd understood the significance and had responded accordingly.

She traced its familiar lines, cleaning the stains from the grip. Polishing the metal. Caressing every curve and angle.

She was vaguely aware of Korkie speeding up the drying process for the clothes, probably so he could convince her to sleep sooner than later.

Satine didn't have the heart to refuse his help.

Heart.

Given her people's emotional violence, the concept of a severed heart was not at all foreign.

She wished it was. She'd given her life and soul to making sure it  _would_ be to succeeding generations of Mandalorians.

And for eighteen and a half beautiful years, she'd succeeded. The only years in their long and blood-soaked history. She'd managed to tame a people who idolized murder into a society that completely rejected violence.

Eighteen and a half.

And now they were right back in the thick of it again, the spell broken, her voice no longer mesmerizing the way it once had.

Children born now would be raised the way she had.

Learning at a young age how to prepare a severed heart for burial.

Korkie had been born in the time of peace.

She felt his horrified glances in her direction as she put just as much effort into cleaning Obi-Wan's heart as she had everything else.

Maybe her efforts hadn't all been in vain.

Korkie'd had a childhood. Korkie hadn't grown up callous.

A planet of Korkies had been given the chance to discover what life could be like  _without_ it centering around war. They didn't  _have_ to be warriors because that was what Mandalorians  _were._

They had options. Had been encouraged to dream.

That was worth the pain. Worth the frustration. The grief. All the betrayal. She  _loved_ her people. She ached for them, that they just wouldn't  _wouldn't_ give up the past.

_We were so close._

And then Maul intervened. Had given the extremists a new playbook.

A very,  _very_ skilled playbook.

Satine had known that it wasn't Pre Viszla pulling the strings, in those last hours. The strategy had been too graceful, to precise. Too perfect.

A military genius had been behind it. Someone who knew how to tear a society down from within.

It hadn't been that big a surprise to discover a Sith was the mastermind.

Once again, a Sith dragging her people into hell.

With Sidious and Dooku dead, who knew what Maul would do next. He had very little standing in his way now.

_He_ will  _try to take the galaxy._

A galaxy just waiting for a new emperor.

_We need you, Obi. You knew that monster better than anyone else._

Korkie helped her dress the dead Jedi, making it take much less time. They returned him to the coffin.

Korkie reached to try to draw folds of the tunics across the gaping hole in fabric and chest, but Satine stayed his hand.

“We do not conceal the wounds that stole life,” she murmured. “We do not hide from them. We do not act as if they are shameful.”

Somewhere inside she knew she was teaching Korkie the way she'd been taught.

She was giving in to her Mandalorian heritage.

_I wanted something better._

But all of that was broken and gone, like a soap bubble.

Satine wrapped the heart in a clean cloth, and tenderly lowered it back into its rightful place.

One last time she pressed her fingers against the Jedi's cheek.

He couldn't lean into the caress now.

The first tears fell, striking the edge of the coffin.

Stepping back, she keyed the protective cover.

She turned, and stumbled.

Korkie caught her arm. “Auntie?”

She was tired. Utterly exhausted. War, fear, midwifing, burial preparation.

Yes.

_Now_ she would be able to sleep.

She'd be lucky to reach a bed first.

She embraced the exhaustion.

 

* * *

 

Korkie drew the blanket up over his Aunt's already slumbering form, deeply relieved.

She needed sleep. He'd been afraid she wouldn't find any tonight.

He'd been concerned that proximity with the corpse would have agitated her.

He couldn't quite explain how... but it seemed to have soothed her.

He'd also never seen her... quite so...

There had been moments when he could have sworn he was watching Bo-Katan. He didn't know what to make of this side of his Aunt.

He watched her for a long moment before he gently pried the lightsaber out of her hands and placed it on the shelf.

He slipped out of the cabin and keyed the door shut.

_He_ needed sleep too.

It had been a very long day.

And he needed to escape the disturbing questions milling around in his gut.

Bo-Katan had said Satine hadn't always been a pacifist, or a politician,  _or_ so proper.

Korkie hadn't really paid much attention at the time.

But in that room with that dead body he'd seen a glimpse of something. Something that disquieted him on a profound level.

Her ease around a corpse. Her focus. The way she knew  _exactly_ what she was doing even when running on utter exhaustion and grief.

Pieces, intense pieces of Mandalorian culture surfacing through the life she had chosen for herself.

He'd thought that would be impossible. Then again, he'd figured she'd never truly been one of the violent horde.

Apparently there was much more to her past than he'd realized.

 

* * *

 

Sleep may have brought quiet to Satine's mind, but not her subconscious.

It had been trained to review things, study things, to give her an edge in whatever battle came next. It analyzed every individual she met for strengths, weaknesses, and best suggestions on how to attack. The best and most efficient ways to cause injury or death.

She'd tried for years to turn it off. Had gone without sleep to the point of collapse. Taken insomnia medications. Knocked herself out with a stun bolt from a blaster. No matter how much she meditated, fought, struggled, hated, loathed...

Still the tumblers turned, endlessly searching for the swiftest ways to conquer.

It was something she'd never been able to rid herself of.

During the day, her mind held court.

In the night,  _it_ reigned. The Mandalorian she'd never been able to kill.

And it was busy.

There was something off about the corpse in the other room.

What  _was_ it?

Something about Anakin Skywalker's right hand. Far more metal than leather. The charred remains of the glove were barely recognizable. More identifiable? The blood, coating the workings of the mechanical hand. The  _inside_ workings.

Like they had been soaked.

The blood spatter against Anakin's clothes, the direction, the pattern...

Warrior instincts turned each piece around and around, waiting for something to fit. A thousand strange parts, creating a confusing, meaningless jumble.

Without her mind or heart's permission, the creature her parents and culture had created continued to rotate through options. Methodically, logically, one variable at a time.

It  _would_ find a match if she didn't awaken first.

But she was too deep in peace to notice she should. No bad dreams, no suspicious noises in the night to snap her eyes awake, a perfectly still huntress, ready to prey on whatever thought it was going to prey on her.

Manda, she hated waking up like that.

She'd observed that every non-Mandalorian human in the galaxy, when startled awake, felt fear.

She felt hunger.

Eagerness.

Eighteen and a half years of nonviolence, and still when something awakened her that way, aggression came first.

Becoming instantly aware of her surroundings, holding absolutely still, not changing the rhythm of her breathing, so the intruder would have no warning. Ears sharp, triangulating position, intent, experience, skill, and yes, many times nationality. Often, the step of an aggressor could also give clues as to what weapon they intended to use. A man with a blaster walked differently than a man who intended to strangle you with his hands.

It's a good thing that her guards had ensured an intruder never reached her in the night.

Pacifist or not, in those first moments when she couldn't remember who she'd  _chosen_ to become, he would have found himself dead or dying on the floor.

If lucky.

The room lay silent. Empty. Comfortingly dark.

Beautifully motionless.

Satine's mind continued to hibernate.

Blissful nothingness. No dreams of war. No dreams of the fierce belonging and love of a family that had once been hers. No memories of laughing with Bo-Katan, not shadow to mar their unity.

No warning.

Click, click, click.

A thousand cylinders. Countless options.

All variations possible.

The damage to Obi-Wan's heart. The indentations where it had been crushed in on itself. Click.

A familiar pattern. Click.

It would fit a hand. Finger marks. Click.

But no flesh-and-bone hand could cause damage like that. Click.

The wound's shape.

Obi-Wan's chest hadn't been cut open with a knife or saber for his heart to be removed. The bones weren't broken out of the way.

The wound  _looked_ like something had been plunged in, almost melting through the bone, and ripping the organ out as it left. Click.

What could device could do such a thing?

So many pieces already fit together, and the rest kept revolving, seeking a match.

Every weapon or torture device she'd ever encountered, ever heard of, was rotating through. Nothing settled. Nothing fit.

The looks on faces when they returned from the Coruscant raid.

Skittering gazes.

Guilt in eyes.

Carefully ignorant expressions.

A piece snapped into place. Another. Another.

Click, click, click.

A hand.

A metal hand.

A burning metal hand.

Charred glove.

Anakin's hand.

The announcement cut through her deep sleep, awakening her with a jolt.

“ _Osik,_ ” she cursed. 

Satine swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up to rest her head in her hands.

A curse on her predatory nature.

She  _hated_ these moments when she just  _knew_ the answer or  _knew_ how to destroy an enemy.

_I've chosen different_ ...

But it was early. So early.

Her body was  _ready_ for the battles of today. Yearning for them. Long flowing dresses and high heels and a headdress she had to walk carefully to keep from losing altogether had helped her focus on  _other_ things. Slower things. Still the raging in her blood.

Peace had been worth suffering for... but her people didn't want peace. They  _wanted_ war.  _Craved_ it.

Guess what?

So did Satine.

It had been  _hell_ to fight against it, but she had. For  _them._ For the children who could be raised knowing something  _other_ than death and fear.

Her dream of a new, better Mandalore was dead and with it the motivation to continue with her pacifistic ways.

And the love of her life lay slaughtered in another room.

She'd never experienced grief like this before.  _Ever._

The pain was unbelievable.

Her people had an answer. Oh, they had an answer.

They held aggressors to account.

When Bo-Katan's love's life had been taken, she'd gone on a rampage, even if the man  _had_ died in a fair fight.

This hadn't been a fair fight.

He'd been  _betrayed._ By the one he trusted most. The one he'd given everything he had to give to.

And he hadn't even fought back.

He'd loved Anakin too much for that.

It wasn't something she could overlook.

If there had been a struggle, there would have been signs on the body saying so.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

_Mando'ad draar digu._ A Mandalorian never forgets.

_Munit tome'tayl skotah iisa._ Long memory, short fuse. 

Her fingers closed around the lightsaber before she even recognized her intent.

And then she was moving.

Short, short fuse.

Silent, lethal she prowled into the medbay.

She found Kix stretched out on one of the bunks asleep.

Ahsoka slumped in a chair, head fallen forward, slumbering in exhaustion.

Satine's subconscious fed her a steady stream of facts.

One Jedi. Very deeply asleep. Click, click.

Whose bond with her Master was broken. Click.

Easy,  _too_ easy to avoid until she'd finished.

The fight would come afterwards. Click.

She had no blasters, but Mandalorians trained with various types of swords.

They drove themselves to be as proficient with their chief enemy's weapon as utterly possible without Force-sensitivity.

Satine was better with a sword than many Padawans.

Click.

And there. Lying still. Face passive.

_Him._

Satine approached the bed.

He looked unconscious.

Satine had her doubts.

It was but the work of an instant to stab him with a pin.

His breath hitched in pain.

A sneer twisted Satine's mouth. “How long have you been tricking them into thinking you're unconscious?”

“Several hours,” he admitted.

White bandages bound Anakin's eyes, his left shoulder, and secured his ribs. He looked pitiful.

He sounded empty.

It didn't do a thing to fill the raging black hole crushing Satine's resolves to overcome her nature. “Did you kill Obi-Wan?”

Anakin Skywalker didn't need the Force or his eyes to feel the murder in her voice.

He didn't pull away, try to find some way to defend himself.

He didn't even really seem to care.

Click.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked, less interest in his voice than there should have been.

“Answer the question,” Satine murmured, her words chiseled from razor-sharp ice.

“Ahsoka's here. She'll sense _—_ ”  
“Why do you think she's still asleep? Why do you think the mortality rate of Jedi pitted against Mandalorians is so high? We've figured out how to mask certain things. So tell me,  _jetii_ , did you murder Ob'ika?”

Jetii.

The word had been snarled.

An insult.

It felt so right even as it felt so wrong.

The love of her life had been a Jetii. The word used to be endearing. Precious.

_He_ was dead.

And looking at this living one, the responsible one, the millenia-old hatred whispered through her veins.

_Now_ Anakin didn't look quite so careless. His forehead above the bandages wrinkled, his breathing crumbled, and his lips twisted in pain.

“Yes,” he choked. “Yes, I did.”

“ _Why?_ ” Satine clenched her fingers around the lightsaber even tighter to try to keep from gutting Anakin with it. She needed an explanation first. Had to wait. Click.

_This isn't who you want to be,_ a tiny voice whispered deep in her heart. That little voice had ruled her life for a very long time. Keeping the lioness quiet.

Anakin had awakened the nexu. Released it from the cage.

The likelihood of being able to bottle it up again?

Very slim.

Just like the chances of taming her home planet a second time were laughable.

“I don't know.”

Satine grit her teeth. “I need something better than that.”

“I was trying to balance the Force, but my voice wasn't loud enough. It wasn't hearing me. I couldn't reach it. Obi-Wan offered to let me siphon some of his strength to add the volume necessary. It's something we _did._ Combine to reach a goal. He would be tired, afterwards. Sleep a lot. But it never _hurt_ him. That's what I thought he meant. And then I didn't have a chance to think about him again, the storm was too thick. Once everything evened out, wasn't going to capsize... I... _saw_ him... in the Force. He was already dead. He told me he was leaving, he told me goodbye _—_ ”

A sob ripped up through Anakin's throat.

“And when I woke up, I found _—_ I must have _—_ oh  _Force—_ ”

He fell silent, breathing ragged.

Click.

Satine stood still, eyes glowing like a predator's, finger caressing the activation stud of the lightsaber.

_He didn't mean to,_ the tiny voice pleaded.  _It was an accident._

“He  _let me think_ he was just going to help.” Anakin's voice was bitter. “He  _knew_ he was going to die. He  _knew_ I would kill him, and he gave himself over anyway. It never crossed my mind he would let me hurt him.”

“He let you hurt him every day of his life,” Satine hissed. “Your words, your choices, the way you cared about everyone's feelings  _but_ his. You never understood him; you never even tried to. You condemned him, judged him instead.”

“You're right.”

Cliiii _—_

The cold calculation of Satine's instincts tried to make sense of his surrender to her attack.

“You're absolutely right. I failed him. In so many ways. And I _— butchered_ him. He didn't hold it against me. Never held  _anything_ against me.  _Somebody_ has to. He can't just be cast aside.  _Someone_ has to avenge him. The Force has rejected me, but it's not enough. The punishment isn't severe enough. The others won't do anything about it. They'll pretend it didn't happen, they'll look away. Try to forget. You're the only one strong enough to hold it against me.”

Skywalker's tone, still quiet enough to keep from awakening his guards, took on an edge of crazed desperation. Satine could practically taste his horror and self-loathing.

Click.

She understood where he was coming from now.

Understood so,  _so_ much. Probably more than her prey did.

Anakin Skywalker's voice was steady when he spoke again, and so full of pain. “Kill me. Make it hurt. Make it last. But act  _now_ before they can stop you.”

Click.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Guide:
> 
> Beskar'gam (Pronounced /bess-car-GAM/) = Mandalorian armor  
> Osik (Pronounced /OH-sik/) = Dung [Impolite]  
> Mando'ad draar digu (Pronounced /man-DOH-ad drahr dee-GOO/) A Mandalorian never forgets  
> Munit tome'tayl, skotah iisa (Pronounced /MOON-eet to-MAY-tail SKO-tah EE-sah/) Long memory, short fuse. Said to be the typical Mando mindset  
> Jetii (Pronounced /JAY-tee/) = Jedi 
> 
> Ob'ika (Pronounced /ohb-EE-kah/) = Obi-Wan's name, turned into an endearment by using the prefix 'ika. Literally: “Little Obi-Wan,” though as an endearment, 'ika is often used on the toughest and meanest warriors in existence without it being considered demeaning.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Anakin's words tempted Satine. So, _so_ much.

He wasn't bluffing. She could practically taste his torment.

_He didn't betray him._

Satine felt the ridges of the lightsaber's grip digging into her fingers.

_He_ didn't  _betray him._

_And Obi-Wan was willing._

She cursed the idiot  _jetii_ she'd loved so much. His selflessness had finally become lethal.

But she knew what he had wanted in death.

And this fit well.

_He would have felt it was a good death. Regretted nothing._

And he had loved this boy. So much.

_He died for him. To save him._

Satine's clenched fingers relaxed just a little.

The fury, the need to hunt and kill wavered.

She could almost feel Obi-Wan standing behind her, reaching out to touch her arm.

Her people  _demanded_ retribution.

It shouldn't  _matter_ to her that Anakin hadn't  _meant_ to. That didn't restore Obi-Wan to her. She had a  _right_ and a  _duty_ to purge blood with blood.

But there he stood, her memory of Obi-Wan. His fingers so gentle against the forearm leading to the saber.

_“You want something more. You still want something more.”_

_It's gone. It's all gone,_ she told the non-existent avatar.  _All I have left is_ this.  _Who I am._

_“You are what you choose to be. You always have been.”_

_What if it's too much to fight? What if I'm tired? I'm not sure there's a point anymore. It's not like the experiment worked._

_“Is that all this was? An experiment?”_

Satine studied the lightsaber, then the silently sobbing Anakin.

_“He is broken, Satine. And you've always seen him as our son.”  
He murdered you._

_“No. I chose to die for him. And you know there's a difference.”_

Satine drew in a deep, silent breath.

_“You honor my memory better by being true to yourself, than by reaching out to a system of revenge drilled into you by people who didn't know better.”_

_This_ is  _me. It has_ always  _been me. The other? That was a facade. Something I tried to attain. Something I_ failed  _in. It was never real, Obi-Wan._

_“Was what we had never real?”_

Satine's heart bounded in pain.

_“What we had never would have been possible had what you said just now been true.”_

_What we had is gone._

_“No. It's not. It never will be.”_

Satine closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped.

And then the tears burned her eyes.

When she'd first received the news of Obi-Wan's death, she'd ignored it. Then she'd tried to handle it the Mandalorian way. The focus on ritual and the vicious, murderous intent had eased the pain.

Stripping both away left her with... absolutely...  _nothing_ .

Nothing but utter emptiness and anguish.

She found herself sitting with her back to Anakin's bunk, leaned against it and sobbing into her drawn-up knees.

She rocked, the agony of the piece ripped out of her chest unbelievable.

A hand, human, found her head. Stroked awkwardly at her hair.

“I'm sorry,” Anakin choked. “I'm so sorry.”

Feet hit the deck.

The others had awakened.

It didn't matter.

She couldn't kill Anakin Skywalker.

_Our son._

Her culture hadn't prized forgiveness.

_But I've chosen to._

_And Obi-Wan did._

The mirage had been right.  _I am more than what my parents made me. I'm more than what my culture and clan made me. I am what_ I  _choose to be, and_ no  _one and_ nothing  _can take that away from me. It doesn't matter how much I lose. They will_ not  _take_ me  _away from me._

_“That's the Satine I know,”_ the beloved voice whispered through her mind.  _“The Satine I've always been proud of.”_

_I miss you,_ already.  _How am I supposed to live now?_

_“The way you always have. One step at a time.”_

A warm hand on her forearm and a tissue offered where she could see it out of the corner of her eye.

Satine looked up to find Ahsoka, silent tears slipping down the white-marked face.

The former Duchess accepted the offering, blowing her nose.

She would  _not_ wipe away her tears.

Her people didn't hide from wounds. Not on physical bodies, and not on hearts. They raged in their emotional pain, healing the wounds with violence and retribution that carried from one generation to the next for eons.

_Not me. Not now._

Ahsoka sat beside her. Glancing up, Satine found that Kix had slipped out of the room.

“Who knows what?” Satine finally whispered.

“About?” Ahsoka asked.

Anakin spoke up before Satine could. “That I killed Obi-Wan.”

Ahsoka hissed a breath in between her teeth. “It was an accident, I'm su—”

“Of course it was.” Satine crushed the tissue in her hand. “But who knows?”

“It looked— bad— when we came to get them,” Ahsoka admitted reluctantly. “The clones saw. Senator Organa. Padmé. Me. That's it.”

That made sense. That comprised the list of people who couldn't look Satine in the eye. The rest hadn't had that problem. “And the others?”

“The Naberries have no idea. All they know is Obi-Wan is...”

“Dead. Don't dance around it,” Satine murmured.

“None of us actually believed Anakin had done anything wrong,” Ahsoka hastened to explain.

“I  _did,_ ” he countered, voice flat. “He's  _dead._ ”

Ahsoka opened her mouth to try to correct him, to try to change his perspective, but Satine laid a warning, quieting hand on her shoulder.

Now wasn't the time.

Anakin needed to be allowed to suffer in peace. He wouldn't  _want_ to let his guilt go yet. It would still feel too sacred.

Later, he would need Ahsoka's gentle guidance towards forgiving himself.

But he wouldn't hear her right now. And if she tried, her voice would only drag shards of glass across his broken heart.

Satine stood and leaned over the boy she'd called son for so long.

She traced her fingers over his forehead, brushing his hair back.

Anakin froze. “You shouldn't forgive me,” he rasped.

“Obi-Wan did.” Satine leaned down and kissed his forehead like she would a child's.

His face contorted, his body trembling from the force of his heartache.

He had no tears to weep, but his body didn't seem to know it.

Satine leaned closer to Ahsoka, who now stood beside her. “Don't convince him. Comfort him,” she murmured against Ahsoka's vibration-sensitive montral as she turned to leave.

“Padmé knows,” Anakin choked as he heard Satine's footsteps head for the door. “She knows what I did?”

“She was there when we found you, but we didn't actually  _know_ anything,” Ahsoka soothed.

“Why isn't she here? Why hasn't she come in?” He sounded just a bit panicked.

Ahsoka patted his arm. “She sat with you as long as she could. And everybody sort of knows now that you're married.”

“As long as she could? What—”

“She went into labor, Anakin. She's  _fine._ The babies are fine. They're  _alright_ —”

Anakin clutched at his former Padawan. “Are you lying? I can't tell if you're lying. I had dreams of her  _dying_ in childbirth, you're just trying to—  _Duchess_ . You hate me. You'll tell me the truth.”

Satine paused in the doorway and glanced back. He was reaching towards her, unable to see, unable to sense, so,  _so_ distressed.

“She's telling the truth, Anakin. I delivered the babies. Padmé is asleep, recovering. She will be fine, she's just tired. I'm sure that as soon as she wakes up, someone will make sure you can visit with her—”

“That's a  _promise_ ,” Ahsoka interjected.

“—and the babies are with the Naberries. Being completely spoiled. They're healthy. They're crabby. They're perfectly normal.”

“ _Babies_ ?” Anakin asked, his voice barely audible.

“Twins.” Ahsoka patted his arm again. “A boy and a girl. Very cute.”

“Are you lying?” he whispered, sounding dazed.

“Maybe a little.” Ahsoka's voice took a gentle teasing tone. “They're pretty ugly right now. Give it a few days and they'll get cuter. Promise.”

And then the broken Jedi was weeping again.

This time in relief.

Satine stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind her. She found Kix leaned against the wall, waiting. At his questioning glance, she shook her head.

“Not yet. Give them a bit longer. What is his physical condition?”

“I've never seen someone with burns from the  _inside_ before,” Kix worried. “I don't know if I'm skilled enough to handle this. I think he  _could_ be fitted with cybernetic eyes eventually. It was a clean amputation, for lack of a better descriptive. But I know nothing about the Force trouble the Commander's been talking about. I'm way out of my league here.”

Satine gave him an understanding nod. “We all are. You figure out what you need, whether that be a second opinion or a specialty meddroid, and tell Ahsoka. I'm sure Senator Organa will only be too eager to help.”

“With all due respect,” the clone said, his tone hesitant, “The Senator was friends with General  _Kenobi_ .”  
“All the more reason to want to help, then.”

He sculpted his face into a blank mask. “Of course, Duchess.”

Satine sighed. “I know now, Kix. You don't have to try to hide it from me anymore.”

“You know what?” he asked, evasive.

“How Obi-Wan died. Senator Organa  _will_ help if Ahsoka asks.”

And then she walked away.

One step at a time.

 

* * *

 

Anakin refused to lie still and trust his family was alright.

Ahsoka could hardly blame him.

He'd just lost Obi-Wan. No wonder the separation was eating him.

Finally, she promised that if he would hold  _still_ and try to let his body  _rest,_ and would  _obey Kix while she was gone,_ she would go check on Padmé and the babies.

It shut him up and shut him down.

When she looked in on the Senator of Naboo, she found the new mother fast asleep. Just so she could tell Anakin she had, Ahsoka scanned her body and mind in the Force. She found deep exhaustion, leftover pain from giving birth, traces of wonder and a powerful,  _powerful_ love.

Fear for Anakin. Check.

Relief his nightmares  _hadn't_ resulted in harm to the twins. Check.

_All well,_ Ahsoka summarized.

She found the twins bundled and asleep, the Naberrie women asleep too.

Padmé's father kept watch over them all, and two little girls lay asleep on the floor, curled in blankets.

The whole family present.

Ruwee looked up and gave Ahsoka a smile.

He was almost glowing.

Ahsoka managed to smile back, and crept into the room.

For a long moment she simply stared down at the little lives lying here. So new. So small. So fragile.

So  _beautiful_ in the Force. Utterly breathtaking. Tiny bundles of unlimited potential. Of dreams yet to be dreamed. Of hopes only they would be able to uncover.

And strong.  _So_ strong in the Force.

Not Anakin's level of raw power, but she didn't need a midi-chlorian test to recognize these kids' strength.

There was also an intense bond between the two. Very intense. It lit up the Force like a golden thread, pulsing strong and bright.

They might be very far away from  _talking,_ but she knew without the shadow of a doubt that the two could  _communicate_ with one another.

She couldn't help but wonder if interaction at an earlier age encouraged them to be more aware of their surroundings than most infants this young.

It wasn't likely she'd ever find out, of course. No-one could keep memories from  _their_ age.

Still. It was interesting to ponder.

With another smile to the proud grandfather, Ahsoka went back to Anakin.

He soaked up every word, clinging to them like they could save him somehow.

Ahsoka was afraid of how fragile he seemed, but she could hardly blame him.

_What if it had been me, and I'd... killed Anakin?_

She was gentle with him. As tender as possible.

His moods shifted from the blackest despair to cautious hope over his children. He struggled against his new handicaps, struggled with being told to stay in his bunk, struggled with  _living_ .

He had the heaviest case of survivor's guilt Ahsoka had ever encountered.

 

* * *

 

Satine returned to her bunk, but dreaded sleep.

It hadn't resulted in anything very positive last time.

She lay back against the mattress and stared at the ceiling above her.

Now that the need for revenge had been dealt with, her subconscious was busy churning over survival methods.

The Empire. Maul.

Where to  _go_ and what to  _do._

How to live.

The people on this ship were her responsibility. Her clan.

Mandalore was still her responsibility too.  _Her_ people.

All of the options were bleak.

_Obi-Wan, what are we going to do? My heritage says I can survive any loss, that the pain and rage will strengthen me. Without those teachings, the grief weakens me. It wears me out. Makes it hard to think._

_I want to kill something. But I don't._

_The conflict is just as bad as the exhaustion._

_How am I going to protect my family?_

Korkie...Anakin... Ahsoka... Padmé... the two perfect little babies...

Padmé's family. The clones.

Bo-Katan and her Nite Owls.

The few Mandalorians who still claimed her as their Duchess.

_I don't have a plan._

_I need a plan._

Well, at least when she fell asleep  _this_ time, her subconscious would be working in a positive direction. 

Unless, of course, it decided that murdering Maul and Tarkin and Amedda was at the top of the list.

_All of this is me. Obi-Wan somehow loved all of it._

_In order to protect those he left behind, I need to find a way to reconcile both halves of me._

_Chew on_ that,  _inner Mando._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Quiet clapping and low cheers sweetened the hall of the ship as Anakin Skywalker took his first few steps.

Loving hands eased him into a chair, and one at a time, tiny bundles of life were placed in his arms.

Satine felt a small smile tug her lips, in spite of herself. _They're beautiful, Obi. Our padawan and his children._

_He's healing, and that would please you too._

She slipped away from the subdued joy, moving to the cockpit.

A footstep in the doorway behind her.

Not tired enough for Padmé, not slow enough for her parents, not military enough for the clones, not quiet enough for Ahsoka.

“Yes, Sola?”

“What are you doing, hiding back here?” Padmé's sister stepped into the room, moving to stand beside the navigator's seat.

Satine sent her a brief smile. “While you celebrate, someone needs to stand guard to secure our future.”

“And as Matriarch of our clan, the task falls to you?”

At Satine's raised eyebrows, Sola chuckled. “I read, Duchess. I had more time for it before the girls were born, but I still make time.”

“Your taste in literature must have been eclectic.”  
“I like studying cultures. There must be something you enjoy.”  
Satine simply sent her a look.

“You should take time for it. Things won't fall apart if you celebrate for an hour or two in your own way.”

Satine tried to hide her amusement and failed. “Is that so?”

“It's so.”

_At this place in my life, she may be right._

“Have you found a place for us to settle?”

Satine keyed the holomap up, some of the systems of which were highlighted. “There are a few options. All agricultural worlds. The countryside would be better than a city, room for the twins to explore their Force talents.”  
“And you would have enough knowledge of farming to start us off.”

_What_ have  _you been reading?_ “True.”

“Is that why we still have the body? Will you bury him?”

Satine winced. “I believe that to be unwise. Make too many ties to the land itself, and it will become difficult to leave when it is time to run.”

“You think running is inevitable?”

“When you're a fugitive, yes.”

 

* * *

 

“I don't like the idea of leaving his body behind when we have to run.” Anakin's fingers lightly ran down Obi-Wan's face, his only way of seeing now. “Could we cremate him?”

Satine squeezed his shoulder. “Certainly. It may take some time to locate a facility where we won't be caught, but with the coffin, we have time.”  
It had been a full month before Anakin Skywalker had felt himself ready to have this conversation. At least he and Satine were on the same page.

She had a suspicion it wouldn't last long.

“I need... a memory token.” There wasn't a good way to have this talk.

“Of course.”

“When I cleaned the body, I refrained from taking my remembrance, because I felt I should speak with you first. I feared it might have been perceived as a desecration of the body, instead of a celebration of the person who owned it.”  
Confusion crossed Anakin's face. “What? A lock of hair? Piece of his cloak?”

“A bone.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I could be careful. Make an incision along the calf, remove just a shard. It wouldn't be visible, and you're going to destroy the body anyway—”

“Why do you want a _bone_?” The boy sounded like he couldn't believe his ears.

“It is tradition, in my culture. It's how you say goodbye.”

Anakin's fingers, resting on Obi-Wan's shoulder, stilled. “What do you  _use_ it for?”

“It would be carved into the hilt of a weapon.”  
Anakin turned, stumbled for the door. Satine moved to help, he shoved her away.

“Anakin,” Satine pleaded. “Talk to me.”

Instead, he somehow found his way to the area where the rest of the company sat around a holo projection, Satine following behind him, prepared to intervene should he fall.

“She wants to  _carve_ his body up like a trophy,” Anakin growled without preamble.

Satine paused in the doorway, feeling all eyes turn to her in confusion.

“What?” Padmé asked, soothing—

“She wants to  _cut up_ Obi-Wan's  _fripping body_ and  _keep_ pieces of it! To wear on earrings or something!”

Satine grit her teeth against the searing misunderstanding that crossed so many faces. Against the way Padmé's parents gathered Sola's children close and guided them from the room.

“Oh, Anakin, I'm sure that's not what's happening,” Padmé murmured, moving to try to help him into a chair. He shrugged her off.

“She wanted permission to cut off part of his leg.”

_I wonder if Sola read about this_ , Satine speculated, darkly amused. Not that it would matter, since Padmé's sister wasn't here.

The clones looked affronted. Ahsoka, slightly nauseated. Padmé's eyes widened.

The hologram turned around to face Anakin. “What is it to you?” it snapped.

_Bo, this isn't—_

“He was my  _father_ !” Anakin snapped.

Bo-Katan scoffed. “And she was his  _love._ And they were together long before you  _ever_ came on the scene. Your little self-righteous indignation is  _absurd._ She would be well within her rights to demand his skull from you—”

“ _Bo,_ ” Satine snarled. The  _last_ thing they needed—

Scowls were settling in on clone faces now.

“His head is what she  _wants._ The fact she didn't ask for it is to try to be kind to  _your_ soft stomachs. It proves she's more like  _you_ than like  _us._ ”

Those raised outside of Mandalorian culture certainly weren't seeing it that way.

_Oh, Obi. I should have kept quiet._

“And just how were you planning on  _getting_ his skull?” Anakin demanded. “Peeling everything off and boiling it? And what do you do with it  _after_ that? Leave it sitting on your fripping dining room table as a centerpiece?”

Padmé and Ahsoka both looked sick.

Satine lifted her chin, feeling her eyes sting.

_I am reverting,_ she knew.  _They look at me like a monster because I_ am  _one. Obi-Wan, how could you love the Mandalorian in me?_

His frustrations had rarely come from the warrior aspects of her soul.

Their biggest fights had taken place once she'd chosen the path of nonviolence.

“What is  _wrong_ with you?” Bo-Katan was still standing up for her. It was surprising. Sweet.

Perhaps just a little amusing, given the past.

Footsteps down the hall behind her alerted Satine to disaster.

“Auntie? What's going on?”

She glanced back, gestured him away. “It's fine, Korkie. But I need you to not be here right—”

“What? He doesn't have a right to know what you  _really_ are?” Anakin demanded.

“You  _still_ shelter him from his birthright?” Bo-Katan blurted at the same moment.

Satine sent her sister an exasperated glance, but nothing was going to repress Bo's anger.

Korkie moved to stand beside Satine, his posture protective. “Is there a  _problem,_ here?”

“Your  _Auntie_ wants to desecrate the body of a  _hero_ . You tell me if there's a problem,” Anakin murmured.

“ _Desecrate_ ?” Bo-Katan's eyes nearly glowed with fury. “You don't know  _what_ that word even  _means,_ aruetii.”

Anakin's fist clenched.

Satine strode into the room, quite  _done._

The Duchess was in the house.

She swept to the holoprojector. “I love you, my sister. But I can handle this myself.” Looking her in the eye, Satine cut the connection.

Turning back around, she faced the varied expressions. “The customs of my people are repellent to others. Perhaps it would be kind of you to discuss this without the accusations.”

“Why don't you just frip him while you're at it,” Anakin muttered.

The room went colder by several degrees.

Korkie went from mildly concerned to livid. “ _What_ did you just say to my Aunt?”  
“Stand down, Korkie.”  _Anakin is in pain._

And she'd come very close to murdering him just weeks ago. Surely she could endure a little public humiliation.

“Or maybe you already have. It's not like anyone supervised your interaction with my master's corpse while the rest of us were  _incapable_ of—”

“ _I_ did!” Korkie yelped. “She did  _nothing_ dishonorable.”

“Says the miniature Mandalorian. You wouldn't know dishonor if your face was rubbed in it.”

Satine stood her ground. “Korkie, I would like you to turn around and walk away.”

“All due respect, Aunt Satine, I'm not a child anymore.” Korkie took several steps into the room to stand beside her. “I won't claim to understand all of your culture's needs, because you sheltered me from that. You gave me a chance at a different childhood. I appreciate it. But I'm also not going to leave you alone against  _this._ Even if they don't understand, they  _know you_ . That should be enough for  _civility,_ at the  _least._ ”

“This is all pointless,” Anakin growled, “Obi-Wan wasn't  _Mandalorian,_ so whatever rites you think are appropriate are  _meaningless._ He was a  _Jedi._ We'll treat him that way.”

“Perhaps you could have given us that objection first,” Satine said, voice cold and royal, “and spared us your invective.”

“I don't know. You came to murder me in the middle of the night.”

The people who  _weren't_ aware of the incident stirred at that.

Satine bowed, knowing Skywalker couldn't see it, and walked  _out._ Korkie joined her, clearly confused by her choice of action.

“Why aren't you standing up for yourself?” he demanded.

Satine sighed. “They're right, Korkie.”

“ _What_ ?”

“Mandalore's past is hideous. Why do you think I fought so long and hard to change the present? If Mandalore's culture had been  _benign,_ I would have left it be.”

“But... it's a dead body. Uncle Ben isn't going to care what's done with it, right? Or did he have wishes?”

Satine shook her head. “He was always more interested in how he would die than what would happen after. He wanted to be with his padawan.”  
“He got that. Was he aware of your customs?”

“He helped me put them into practice once, long ago.”  
“So he was clearly not  _repulsed._ ”

Satine smiled a little at that. “He recovered, indeed.”

“Wouldn't he care more about the people closest to him finding closure, then?”

“If he cannot rest with his brothers and sisters in the Temple, the usual Jedi rites are to burn the body.”

“Are you suggesting they don't?”

“No. Certainly not.” Satine sighed. “Anakin wants to cremate him.”

“Then... if they're going to destroy it anyway... why not let you take something first?”

“It's... not about logic, Korkie. It's about heart. And you can't use a formula on a heart. The fact that the end result looks the same isn't the point. Most cultures have very definite ideas on how the dead should be treated.”  
Korkie considered that. “Then... why isn't yours just as important to honor as his, especially if both can be honored at the same time?”

“Mutilating a corpse after death is usually perceived to be... disrespectful, of the fallen individual. Even old Mandalorian customs agreed with that. The problem is the definition of mutilation. To us, it has to do with intent. To Anakin and the others... it has to do with the knife.”

“But... aren't murder victims cut open and have pieces removed so the killers can be found?”

“True.”

“Why is  _that_ alright, and what you're doing—”

“Many people find autopsies inherently repulsive, and try to ignore them or look the other way. Especially if it involves a loved one. Besides. My memory weapon would not help  _catch_ the killer.”

“Because he's here,” Korkie muttered. “He should be the last one to throw accusations at  _you._ ”

Satine turned to face him, staying his footsteps down the hall. “Korkie... things aren't quite this simple. And I can see  _your_ queasiness about all of this. The only reason you're talking this way is because you want to stand up for me. It's kind, Korkie. It shows a compassionate heart. But if the thought of me claiming his skull makes  _you_ ill, you can hardly find fault with  _them_ for the same thing. The only difference is they don't love me like you do.”

“Uncle Ben did. That should be all that matters.”  
Satine smiled at his naivete. “Korkie... you'll find that people claim that final rites are about the departed one. That is very rarely the case. It is almost always about the people left behind. Even ancient Mandalorian rites.”

“Satine? Satine, wait.”

The two Kryzes looked back to find Padmé hurrying towards them.

The former senator took a deep breath and raised her chin. “I apologize for what happened back there.”

“No offense taken,” Satine returned, her manner formal to the utmost.

“You and I are  _friends,_ Satine,” Padmé reminded her. “I've seen your world, and while I've never encountered what it  _used_ to be like, I can appreciate who you are  _now._ Is this really you?”

That just  _hurt._

“This aspect of my culture is not inherently violent, or hurtful towards  _anyone._ ” Satine's eyes flashed. “I find it curious you would automatically lump it in with murder.”

“I'm  _not,_ Satine. It's just... a bit... barbaric.”  
“You know what?” Korkie intervened. “Some people find burning a body to ashes  _obscene_ too. But I suppose you look down on them for being superstitious. How can you look down on  _both_ sets of people? Why are  _you_ the only standard of propriety?”

“Korkie,” Padmé soothed, “The practice of bone collecting is very... tribal. And your people have left those behaviors behind as they moved into the modern era.”

“It's not about what's _modern_ or not. It's about what's _Core World_ or not,” Korkie retorted. “Core World culture is seen as the pinnacle of society and science and reason. There isn't room for anything else, except in _museums_ or reservations _._ ”

“That is  _not_ fair,” Padmé protested.

Korkie shrugged. “Is it really?”

Satine decided to intervene before things became even less conducive for mutual understanding. “I know what I asked for is a difficult to hear. It's why I brought it up for discussion instead of just acting. Perhaps we should speak of it another time, after everyone has had a chance to think it through.”  
“That's probably for the best,” Padmé admitted.

 

* * *

 

Padmé returned to the medbay— their bedroom for the moment— and found her husband pacing, his feet unhesitating in their path.

_He's been at it a while, then._ The first several rounds would have been tentative until he knew for sure he wasn't going to run into anything.

For a long moment Padmé stood by the now-closed door, simply watching him.

_It could so easily have been Obi-Wan pacing in Satine's quarters, and my love a broken corpse._

She suppressed a shudder at the thought.  _Maybe, instead of wishing she would fit our standards of civilized society, we should be focused on helping her endure her pain in whatever way speaks to her heart._

After all, if Satine wanted an overnight vigil with candles, no one would be protesting. Some form of service, prayer to some strange deity no one else believed in, even a party thrown in Obi-Wan's honor— Padmé could see the crew of this ship gathering around the Duchess to provide whatever support she felt she needed.

_But..._

All of the things she came up with were practices familiar through the Core Worlds.

_Is Korkie right? Is that what this is about? When we say our society is more advanced, what measurement are we using?_

“What are you thinking?” Anakin spoke up, the suddenness of it almost startling her. “I can't  _see_ your face, I can't  _sense_ your emotions—”

Padmé stepped into his space, stopping his endless toil. She raised his hands to her face so he could feel her expressions. “I don't know, Anakin.”  
“Why are you confused?” Fingers brushed over skin like soft kisses, reading every muscle shift.

Padmé sighed. “Naboo, while for the most part existing peacefully alongside other worlds, has always been very set in its ideas of what is proper.”

“Such as wives and mothers not being allowed political positions?” A faint smile touched his lips.

“Naboo is very hidebound in some ways, yet as a people we see ourselves as very tolerant.” Padmé waited a beat and then admitted, “I'm not sure we're in the right.”

A gentle kiss to her forehead was followed by, “Of course they're wrong. Who you love doesn't change your competence.”

“I didn't mean Naboo anymore,” Padmé whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I meant  _us._ Maybe we're doing the same thing Naboo does. Thinking we're open minded... when we really aren't.”

Anakin stilled. She could feel the tension building inside him.  _Oh, Ani._

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice even, but with the forecast of a coming storm.

“I'm saying that to some people, a...  _memory weapon..._ is just as sacred a rite as any of those we recognize in the Core Worlds. It's  _not_ hurting anybody, and it's not meant to disrespect. Just the opposite.”

“And what if there was a tradition to  _eat_ the flesh of the dead, and that was considered  _honor_ too?” Anakin growled. “Where do you draw the line?” He pulled away from her, running stiff fingers through his hair.

“You keep comparing Satine's wishes to other things, but we aren't discussing those other things right now. Those other things are meaningless at the moment. All that matters is that Satine  _lost_ her love, and she's living with his...”

Anakin spoke into her hesitant silence with a whisper. “His killer.”

“How difficult must that be for her? What if you'd lost me, or I'd lost you? It could have gone that way so easily, Anakin.” She took the step necessary to wrap her arms around him. Laying her cheek against his chest, Padmé sighed. “What if the cultural norm was to dump a body in a field and leave it for the insects and scavengers, and I came from a tiny culture that wanted that body buried. What if everyone else saw that as a desecration, because it's placing  _dirt,_ something we walk on, over the body, burying it like something unclean? Wouldn't you want the people around me to listen to me? To help me bury you, or at least to allow me to bury you without being harassed?”

Anakin opened his mouth to argue, but Padmé placed a finger over his lips. “For a moment, try to see things from her eyes, Anakin. Not your eyes in her life, but  _her_ eyes.”

Anakin lowered his head to bury his nose in his wife's hair. “I can't see Obi-Wan thinking this was a good idea.”

“You can't see Obi-Wan standing by me to make sure I received what I needed in my loss? You can't see him holding back those who would make my goodbye more painful than it needed to be? You can't see him standing in silence beside me, respectful of my customs?”

“Kark,” Anakin muttered.

“It's the Jedi way, Anakin, to respect the ways of differing groups.”

Anakin's arms tightened against her. “I don't  _like_ it, Padmé.”

“I know,” she soothed. “But if I ever  _do_ have to place your body to rest, it won't be with all the flesh and bone you were born with either.” She pulled his metal hand into her own and pressed a kiss to its palm.

A faint smile touched his face.

“The rites you wish for him and those Satine needs are not mutually exclusive. He will still be surrounded by Jedi rituals, probably with a flavor of Tatooine traditions.”

He looked just a little bit sheepish.

“What would please Obi-Wan more, do you think?” Padmé murmured, gazing up into the scarred face. “Knowing we took care of the woman he loved as best as we could, or that we made her grieving process more difficult, but at least we kept his body in one piece, until we burned it into ashes to put in a bottle?”  
Anakin's shoulders sagged. “He was always more the Yoda type when it came to corpses. That we're something housed within frames of  _crude matter._ ”

“That does sound like Yoda.”

“And... he  _knew_ Satine. And maybe he didn't talk about it much with me because he was worried I'd...” Anakin's brow furrowed, “that I'd judge her. And him, by extension, because he accepted her.”

“It's easy to accept the parts of her soul that look almost the same to ours. It's the things that seem foreign that are the real test. Not all people are supposed to be like us, Anakin. We're not some wonderful standard everyone else is supposed to match up to.”

“Obi-Wan used to say stuff like that.” Anakin shook his head. “Usually when I was complaining about the  _disgusting_ things various tribes on so many planets consider  _food._ The war may have been bad, but the rations were actually better than the stuff I had for my teenage years when we were negotiating peace all over the place.”

Padmé smiled to herself. “You always used to talk about Obi-Wan like he was the wimp.”

“I'm  _not_ being a wimp. The food was  _really bad,_ a  _lot_ of the time. Some people actually sit around in a circle, chew food and then spit it into a giant bowl so it can  _ferment,_ Padmé.”

She was chuckling now. “You poor thing.”

“It's not  _funny._ And all  _Obi-Wan_ could think of was that if we  _refused_ we'd  _offend_ them— and  _Force forbid_ we say we're  _allergic,_ because that would be  _lying_ without a  _good reason_ . I swear, Padmé, some of those missions were  _hell._ His insistence on respecting local customs because we were guests... a lot of  _really_ unpleasant things happened.”

“They were celebrating you, Anakin. They weren't _punishing_ you.”  
Anakin shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Obi-Wan seemed to be able to see the intent behind it instead of what was happening. All I could see was that they wanted me to strip naked and roll around in a paste made of human feces dyed blue.”  
“Did that really happen?” Padmé asked, secretly delighted.

“Yeah. Some priest insisted on it. Had something to do with their god bestowing approval on the peace talks. Everyone involved in the negotiations did it. From the look on Obi-Wan's face, you'd think it was normal, and he couldn't smell anything wrong. He was so pleased when the Truns stopped killing Uzmis. You'd think he'd been given a galaxy. He also showered for a solid two hours once we got back to civilization. And completely cut off his hair. And burned his clothes.”

“See? He didn't  _like_ it, but he wasn't going to make personal preference a point of schism. Especially with bigger things at stake.”

“So why would he start a war every time I left droid pieces all over his floor—?”

Padmé patted his arm. “Probably because he climbed out of bed one night and had a few holes punched into his foot.”

His face went very still. “You're not going to let that go, are you.”  
“Anakin, I had an entire _apartment_ back then for you to work in. The _bedroom floor,_ really? It was _dark._ I don't even know _what_ it was, but it had sharp points sticking up! I was limping for a _week._ ”

“Padmé, I—”

“I'm just staying I  _understand_ the pain, Anakin.”

He shook his head and kissed her forehead again. “Hmm.”

For a long moment they simply stood there, soaking in the fact that they were  _alive_ and here, together.

“Alright,” Anakin whispered. “I know Obi-Wan would want us to watch out for her, the way he would if here. I just— I'll need to have a little time with him before, and I won't want to encounter the body after. And I can't be there  _while._ ”

Padmé nodded. “Of course, Ani.”

She held him close and felt her heart swell with pride.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are (finally) at an end.

 

He stood alone with the corpse.

All was dark, and he ached for a touch from the Force.

“I hope I made the right decision,” Anakin murmured, his fingers smoothing hair back from the cold forehead. “That it's what you would have wanted.”

He felt the closed eyelids beneath his fingertips. Felt the brush of their lashes.

Swallowing hurt. “I said cruel things to Satine, Master. I think... I think I did wrong. But you know me. I speak first, think about it later. I just...”

His touch carefully avoided the broken chest, instead moving along the arm to hold limp fingers tight.

“She said all is forgiven, but I think I hurt her. Korkie hates me.”

How he  _wished_ for even the tiniest pressure from the hand in his.

“I don't know how to live with people who are different from me.” He gave a heavy sigh. “You tried to teach me, but I still don't get it. Clearly.”

Still no response.

“There's other things I don't  _get_ , Obi-Wan. You're so much  _better_ than me. The universe doesn't need  _me_ anymore. I just... you should be here. You should still be here.  _You_ are the one people gravitated towards when they were grieving or afraid.  _You_ are the one who knew how to bring people with vastly differing viewpoints together, to become, if not friends, at least stop  _hurting_ each other. The only thing I know how to do is tear people down.”

The silence was going to kill him.

“I miss you already. I just— I keep  _losing_ people.”

He sighed. “You would love the twins. I remember how good you were with kids. They would have loved you.”

That wasn't an image that was easy to endure—

Obi-Wan, an infant in his arms, a tiny head cradled in his hand. That special smile that Obi-Wan reserved for little ones lighting his face. The delight that would light up the Force when he felt a tiny signature push against his.

_Not that I would be able to see any of it. Or feel it._

But the soothing croon of Obi-Wan singing traditional Jedi lullabies...

Whispered stories of the exploits of legendary heroes of the past...

Obi-Wan's laughter if Anakin groused about the  _smells_ that came with changing a baby—

Anakin raised the corpse's hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it, his throat so tight it physically hurt.

“Sleep well,” he whispered with one last gentle caress to the cold forehead.

It took all of his willpower to turn and walk away.

Hands extended before him so he wouldn't run into the door, he found it, and tapped at the window.

The door slid open, and Anakin could smell Padmé's subtle perfume, and also that  _other_ scent. One that had become familiar.

Neither woman spoke. Padmé guided his hand to her bent elbow and led him down the hall in gentle silence.

Anakin tried to block out the questions bombarding his mind. Did Satine hold a cleaver? What was she going to do with his eyes, since Anakin had given her permission to take the head?

“Ani,” Padmé whispered, “let's steal the babies from Sola and go back to our room.”

Drown out death with life.

That sounded like something Obi-Wan would have suggested.

He gave her a nod, and let her lead down the hall.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you want to be alone?”

Satine placed a hand on Korkie's shoulder. “Yes.”

“You're not saying that because you think I'd be grossed out.”

_I_ know  _you'd be “grossed out.”_

“This won't be the first time I've done this, Korkie.”  
He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I know... or, I know  _now..._ but it's a little... scary.”

“I understand.”

He squeezed the hand on his shoulder. “If you need me, shout. I'll be outside.”

Satine gave him a nod and waited until the door hissed shut.

And then she gave her full attention to the one who deserved every recognition in death that a fellow warrior could bestow.

 

* * *

 

Anakin allowed his fingers to trace over the small case containing Obi-Wan's ashes. It didn't feel lighter than it “should” have been.

_No one would ever ask what was missing. Padmé was right._

There was a terrible finality to the whole thing. He knew it made no sense; Obi-Wan wouldn't have returned to the body even if it had been laid out waiting for him...

_It still feels that way._

Anakin pressed a soft kiss to Leia's forehead. A tiny fist bumped against his hand and the baby sneezed.

_“In grief alone there is no danger.”_

It was Obi-Wan's voice, quoting the ancient Jedi proverb.

_The danger will come if I reach for anger to soothe the pain._

It was a truth he clung to.

_Not this time. I'm not going to fail him this time._

Maybe it took longer for him to heal than he had after the loss of his mother.

Or maybe the wound healed more cleanly.

All that could be said for sure was that the earliest memories Leia could recall of her father were that he'd been handsome...

And so very sad.

 

* * *

 

Padmé left Anakin communing with his daughter while she sought out Satine's room.

The knock resulted in the door opening just a little.

Red eyes and nose set in a calm face greeted Padmé through a small crack that formed between the door and wall.

“May I come in?”

Satine eyed her. “I'm not finished.”

“Don't worry about it. There's something I've been needing to tell you, that I haven't. And I should have earlier. You won't want to have this discussion out here.”

Concern whispered into the other woman's expression, placing a strain there. She glanced back, then murmured, “One moment.”  
Padmé heard fabric rustling, and then the door slid open. She stepped into the room, and despite her resolutions sent an unconscious glance around.

On the small table something round sat, having been hastily concealed from view by the blanket swept from the bed. Satine had her fingers closed around something else, and a whittling knife lay on the floor beside pale shavings and piece of shaped metal.

“It's a message,” Padmé said, trying to ignore her suddenly dry throat.

_Pull it together,_ she scolded herself.

It was one thing to accept “aberrant” behaviors in theory, from a distance...

Something else to smell the faint hint of earth and beskar that lingered in the room. To see glimpses of ivory through Satine's concealing fingers.

“How bad is it?”

Satine looked like she was steeling herself against something terrible.  _That_ made Padmé feel bad.

“No,  _no._ It's just... I saw them. Right before they went to the Chancellor's office. Obi-Wan came to fetch Anakin and on his way out the door he paused.”

Color fled from Satine's face, and she sat on the now-bare bed, her shoe disturbing the pile of bone shavings.

“He said that if he didn't come back, I was supposed to tell you that he loved you.”  
“He said...  _that_ word?”

“What word?”

“Love.”

Padmé made a silent nod.

Satine's eyes softened. “You didn't have to do that,” she whispered, more to herself than her guest.

_No. Not herself._

Satine straightened up. “Thank you for keeping his trust.”

“I should have had the courage to speak up sooner.”  
“Many things have happened.”

_True, but._

Padmé reached a hand to Satine's tightly clenched fist. “May I see?”

Again the wary, calculating look, the Duchess clearly trying to determine what it was Padmé was seeking to  _accomplish—_

_Even I don't know the answer to that._

“I don't think it's wise.” Satine rose. “In fact, you should probably go.”

Padmé shook her head. “I  _know_ we've fostered an environment that would encourage you to pull away from us. You've  _been here_ for us through every step of this, no matter the cost to yourself, but you've not... there's still distance.  _Now_ you're pushing Korkie away too. Satine, you need to let us in.”

She could read distrust in the cool blue eyes.

There was no audible answer.

“Please, Satine. We— used to be friends.”

“When all you saw was the fancy-dressed pacifist.”

“That's still you,  _part_ of you. You've hidden this other part. I don't know if it's because you're ashamed of it, or because you hate it, but  _whatever_ it is, your friends are  _all_ at arms' length or  _farther._ Those who knew you  _before_ the pacifist became a part of you are pushed even  _farther_ away. Look at Bo-Katan—”

“That was a  _mutual_ pushing away.”

Padmé spread her hands. “I have no doubt. But Satine, can you understand our dismay? In one moment of time, you seemed to be a completely different person. Please give us a chance to get to know  _both_ dimensions of your mind, not just the one.”

“Because that's gone so spectacularly.”

“We were wrong.” Padmé shook her head. “We'd like the chance to get it right. The best way to overcome prejudice is to get to know a  _person_ within that other culture. To see a  _friend_ instead of a stereotype.”

“We are already friends.”

“I don't know, Satine. I'm feeling more like an acquaintance. You haven't been  _you_ when around me. At least, not  _all_ of you.”

“I don't  _want_ that other part.”

“Obi-Wan knew about it.”

Frustration crossed Satine's face. “Obi-Wan knew me  _before_ .”

“He seemed willing to accept that you have many different aspects. I wish you trusted me enough to give me a chance to do the same.”

Satine's expression turned to a scowl. “ _Obi-Wan_ almost preferred my  _violent_ self.  _That_ was the me he fell in love with. He  _tolerated_ the pacifist side when it came. Decent people can only make sense of the  _one—_ ”

“Obi-Wan wasn't decent?”  
That earned her a murderous glare.

“Satine, maybe we're willing to change. Maybe we can see your heart, and want to find closeness with you. Maybe we want to overcome the prejudices society programmed into us. Maybe I want to know where you see the beauty in  _this..._ so I can understand.”

Pale fingers opened, revealing an unfinished hilt.

Padmé considered it for a long moment, recognizing the time and skill that had already been bestowed upon it.

“It's warm with memories,” Satine whispered. “It saw every victory, every defeat. Every mistake, every request for forgiveness, every kindness, every sacrifice.”

Padmé held out her hand. “May I?”

For a long moment Satine hesitated, before placing it in her palm.

“The carving process takes a long time, doesn't it. Thought and planning?”

“The design has to match the spirit of the warrior, and the blade which it later holds must also be a reflection of that soul. Every weapon has a personality, a tone, a feel. It's the carver's job to ensure a match is made. So that when someone who didn't know the fallen warrior sees the knife, they learn something about the one it commemorates.”

“How long will it take to finish?”

“Days, if it's my main task.”

“That focus and effort and time commitment are a gift, aren't they,” Padmé realized, “ _to_ the departed one. It's a way of demonstrating how much the warrior meant to who is left behind.”

Satine gave her a short nod, a few of the tension lines easing.

_It also undoubtedly hurts, to pull apart the corpse of someone you love, to prepare the bone for carving, and then all through the whittling process. It forces you to face your own loss._

Perhaps not the most “civilized” form of therapy, but...

Perhaps not  _more_ harmful than many responses to death throughout the Core Worlds.

“What would a memory weapon be used for?” Padmé asked.

“It would be carried with you. The one you surrender last. The one you use to cut wood for the fire, clean the fish you've trapped, signal your brothers with the sun glinting off the blade.”

Padmé watched in startled amazement as Satine seemed to transform. A sense of belonging seized the Mandalorian's entire body, all the way to the soft smile.

“It's the weapon that when all else fails, you draw. In your last stand, on your knees, you take out the last few that you ever will with that blade.”

“How did you leave that life behind?” Padmé murmured, knowing she'd  _never_ seen Satine glowing like this before.

Some of it faded at the question. “So many reasons.”

“But you seemed  _happy._ ” At least, if the last few seconds were to be believed.

Satine's smile turned sad, then died entirely. “When you see your people on the brink of extinction and realize it's the natural culmination of a lifestyle that's been working towards this end for thousands of years...” Moisture obscured her eyes. “I couldn't stand by and watch what few of us remained slaughter each other for feuds that had ceased to have relevance millennia ago. I wanted us to have a  _future._ And the way we were? Clan would never make peace with clan, even if it meant utter annihilation of both. Honor and tradition were too strong.”

“So you had to do something drastic.”

Satine's face crumpled. “Perhaps— perhaps there was some other way, that I couldn't see. The only option I could find was to unify them as  _Mandalorians first,_ clansmen second.”

Padmé found herself at a loss for words.  _You took the most violent culture the galaxy has ever seen, and you quieted the people who were raised on blood to a point where for eighteen years, they didn't attack the galaxy_ or  _one another._

What kind of strength did that  _require_ ?

Padmé had known that Satine's reforms had been impressive, but she hadn't  _felt_ the weight of it before.

_And you paid a heavy price._

“Peace was the only way,” Satine whispered, “but it's not my nature.” A tear hung from her lashes, then slipped free. “It's been something I've  _fought_ to hold for so long, and Obi-Wan, once he understood,  _helped_ in  _any_ way he could, even when he didn't agree with my conclusions. He stood by me. Perhaps he was too much of an anchor, and now I'm spineless.”  
Padmé shook her head. “I don't think that's true. Your home is in turmoil, you are separated from your people.  _They_ are why you fought so hard for this. It's  _understandable_ that you would wonder where to stand now.”

“I don't want to go back to what I was before.”  
Padmé looked down at the hilt in her hand, realized it didn't disgust her anymore. “I don't think you will. You're not going back, you're taking another step forward, to the next place in your life. It may have elements of everything you've passed through, and I would be surprised if it  _didn't._ I don't think you'll lose your way, or your heart. You're too in tune with your conscience and your compassion.”

“I feel like a monster,” Satine whispered. “I know I  _shouldn't._ Obi-Wan made it abundantly clear when alive. But I  _do._ ”

Padmé stepped forward and placed her free hand on the older woman's arm. “You're not a monster. You're just different.”

“All monsters are people.” Satine shook her head. “And none of them  _think_ they are particularly bad.”

“Fine, then,” Padmé countered. “You're a monster. But Satine, not all canines are out to devour the flock. Some stand loyal with the helpless and defend against their hungry kinsmen. Monsters have choices, just like the rest of us. What you were born as doesn't make you repulsive, or vile in  _any way._ Maybe you should bestow upon Obi-Wan the honor of believing he was a fairly decent judge of character. You said he's seen your soul, even the aspects of it that you hate. If he loved you,  _all_ of you, there had to be a reason.”

Satine looked away

Padmé's voice dropped to something even more soft. “And Satine, even if no one had ever loved you in your life, if you were raised by a desert or a system that raised infants into mindless killing machines, you could  _still_ reach out to compassion. Your heart  _beats_ with selflessness. I've seen it. Obi-Wan saw it. I just need you to see it. As long as it does and you follow your conscience, you cannot go astray.”

“You sound like Obi.”  
“I can't believe he allowed you to call him that.”  
A sly smile lurked at the edges of Satine's eyes. “Hmm. He hated it so much that when I came up with _Ben_ he was thrilled for  _anything_ that might take the place of the other.”

_How in blazes did she get_ Ben  _out of Obi-Wan?_

“On a more serious note, I am afraid,” Satine confessed. “I suspect I need to reconcile the pacifist with the warrior for what lies ahead, but I cannot seem to find  _how._ ”

Padmé gave her a small smile. “That's why you need your family. You saw Obi-Wan's people as yours as well, didn't you? You chose us to be your family. Let us help you. Please. Even if we're simply here to listen as you try to work this out. You don't have to be alone. I highly doubt Obi-Wan would have wanted you to be alone.”

Satine sent a glance to the poorly-concealed skull.

“You're right,” she finally murmured. “You're right.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin found himself just a bit self-conscious about his empty eye sockets. It took time to reassure him.

Satine made sure not to push him too hard on the matter, though she had definite ideas of her own.

It was a wound won in a battle against odds that had nearly crushed him. The perceived disfigurement was something he'd  _earned._ Not something to  _hide._

Survival was a victory in and of itself, and all victories were to be remembered, and  _expressed._

If Anakin refused to hide them, then every stranger who ever saw him would know he'd endured a trial that might have broken another being.

_It's why we wear trophies, mark our armor in honor of our kills, or—_

The Mando was surfacing again.

Satine tried to simply watch it, instead of stomping on it, but she was baffled where to  _put_ it. Maybe it wasn't as big a threat to her soul as she'd thought, but that didn't mean she was comfortable with it seeping up through the floorboards of her mind to hover behind her like her own personal ghost.

Fortunately, staring into the eye sockets of Obi-Wan's skull as she fell asleep helped quiet the raging conflict within.

 

* * *

 

Five years passed.

They found a home, had to flee, found another.

The laughter of children floated through the hallways, the happy talking of Padmé and her sister and mother, the sweet intensity of the clones.

The lines of self-hate and grief had gentled in Anakin Skywalker's face. They would always be there, nothing could erase them, but there was a tenderness to him that attracted children— and not only those who actually belonged to him.

Little ones from the nearby village always wanted to show him their latest treasures, beg him for stories, ask for rides on his shoulders.

Satine watched the gentle ebb and flow of the farm, saw Korkie and Ahsoka laugh as they struggled to herd the small flock of shearing creatures through a gate the animals apparently  _couldn't_ see. Saw it morph into exhausted and grim determination as, hours later and covered in both dust and dung, they fought the  _selfsame battle._

The former Senator, hands in the ground, preparing it for the planting season, two five-year-olds playing around her with happy cries of, “Mama! Look at this!”

Satine felt dread as the Naberries decided to check in on the holonet one night, after the children were in bed.

_It would take so little to shatter all of this,_ she knew.

The propaganda was the same, all—

No.

No, it wasn't.

_Click._

Satine moved forward in her seat, gaze trapped by the blue Chagrian who ruled the Empire.

“What is it?” It was Anakin, who must have heard the subtle creak in her chair...

And  _knew_ it meant something.

_He knows me._

It was a strange thing to realize.  _All_ of these people knew her. 

_Somehow they love me anyway._

“Amedda isn't in charge anymore,” Satine murmured back.

Padmé looked up, confusion in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. He's being manipulated. Coerced. That man's actions aren't his own.”

Now  _everyone_ was looking concerned.

But not one of them disbelieved her.

The clones exchanged grim looks.

“Mind trick?” Korkie suggested. Ahsoka lightly punched his elbow. “ _What_ ?” he hissed. “I'm still not sure you didn't mind trick that waitress at the bar into kissing you.”

Anakin's head swiveled, clearly stunned by even the  _thought_ of Ahsoka kissing  _anyone—_

_Poor thing,_ Satine thought, amused.  _Your child grew up when you weren't looking._

“I wouldn't  _do_ that,” Ahsoka groused. “You  _know_ me better than that. She  _wanted_ to kiss me, idiot.”

“Amedda is fully aware he's being used.” Satine let her eyes trace the subtle tension in the blue one's expression, the tiny twitches of agitation in his stance, the almost-invisible defiance and hate and misery in his eyes, flicking in and out in time with the words flowing from his mouth.

The  _words..._

They had a melody and cadence, a rhythm.

Click.

“I've seen this style before. What he's saying, it  _matches_ ...” Satine turned her mind loose—

Click, click, click.

Into the silence, her quiet announcement almost seemed anticlimactic. “It's Maul.”

“How can you  _tell_ ?”

Multiple gazes tracked up to find Ryoo in the doorway.

No one made a move to shoo her away, instead Satine met her worried gaze. “Pre Vizsla's strategies and speeches towards the end. They were too precise, too perfect for him.”

“But he  _overthrew_ you,” Ryoo protested.

A grim curve lifted Satine's lip. “True. Because the timing and execution were flawless. Vizla was stupid. He didn't have the finesse or brains to craft something so perfectly balanced to the point where the people did his work  _for_ him. Vizsla's speeches were  _directed_ by an unseen hand. Later I discovered it to be Maul. Listen to what Amedda is saying, and  _how_ he is saying it. It doesn't have the same texture as in previous years.”

The others  _tried_ to find it, they really did—

_But it's not the words_ themselves  _that are different. It's all about the delivery._

“We're fripped,” Korkie breathed, then winced as he remembered Ryoo's presence.

_You'd be surprised what words she uses,_ Satine mused.

“Does he know Obi-Wan is dead?” asked Anakin.

That, of course, was the question.

Satine considered it for a long time, scanning the crowd behind Amedda's back, knowing Maul would be too careful to be caught by a reporter until he was  _absolutely_ ready. “It's not common knowledge. The wanted signs are still out there, the price keeps going up.”

“Bounty hunters are going crazy over it,” Ahsoka added.

Anakin frowned. “How do you even know that?”

“I keep in touch with a friend.”

“A certain  _purple tattooed_ friend?” Korkie ribbed.

She glowered. “Aren't you a pain this evening.”

“We could use Obi-Wan's name to lure Maul out, since that's his weak point.” Satine leaned over to murmur in Anakin's ear.

“And hit him with  _what_ ?” he whispered back, clearly trying to  _not_ freak out about the company Ahsoka chose to keep and the realization he knew almost  _nothing_ about it. “A blind, Forceless me?”  
“You're forgetting me,” Ahsoka interrupted, voice soft.

_As usual, paying more attention than one might think._

“My sister has a serious grudge against him. Her Nite Owls would be eager for the contest.”

“I don't like it,” Anakin admitted.

Ahsoka's expression gentled. “But that's what was  _going_ to happen. Don't you remember? Right before...  _before._ We were all going to go after him together, but you and Obi-Wan had to leave. It was going to be the clones, Mandos, and me.”

 

* * *

 

Trust.

Anakin knew he had always struggled with giving it to those closest to him. For some reason, trusting their ability to get a job done  _well_ was harder than just stealing it for himself.

_I don't want to lose you, Ahsoka._

Or the clones—

Or Satine.

He couldn't sense anything, anymore, but there were moments when he was sure he could feel her presence in a room. It had been unnerving for a long time, until the moment he caught her watching over the twins' cradles the night that giant avians attacked the settlement.

From then on, her steady, measured existence had been a comfort.

_I wouldn't have caught the Amedda thing._

Without the Force, he wasn't sure he was ready to enter into a mind war with Maul.

_I would have to trust her mind._

He certainly couldn't take a lightsaber to Maul.

_I would have to trust Ahsoka's._

He couldn't ensure his children wouldn't be put in harm's way once Maul realized he had an enemy.

_I will have to trust Padmé to help me keep them safe._

All through his growing up years, Obi-Wan had urged him to ask for help when he knew he needed it. He'd watched Obi-Wan request assistance when he thought it might be needed.

_And when I needed help most, he gave it._

_All of these people did._

So Anakin Skywalker let go. He couldn't control these people. He  _shouldn't._

The beauty of family wasn't that he could guide them into paths he'd determined to be best—

_But for us to walk many paths, supporting each other along the way._

Chosen didn't mean the only one who could do the job right.

_It just means I need extra help._

He could almost swear that somewhere, he saw Obi-Wan smile.

 

 


End file.
